The new farmhand
by Rhiani12
Summary: Lucas McCain finds himself a new farmhand. (No idea how to summarize. Read and try.) First timer, constructive feedback much appreciated. T to be safe - some violence, some adult themes later on. no slash! Set some time after Season 2. Does not follow Season 3!
1. Chapter 1

Lucas McCain had gotten himself a new farmhand. Lord knew, he had lost count how many young and older men he had had working with him and Mark. Youngsters who needed to tide over a tight spot, older men run down on their luck who needed a fresh start, a kind word and some encouragement. Lucas did not mind, though sometimes he had gotten to hate that each left, leaving him to find somebody new, often having to carry Mark over a spot of melancholy being alone again.

This young man though – this one he would miss himself.

….

Him and Mark had been in town for the usual run of supplies.

Darkness closing in slowly, the heat still lingered in places, making the air dance. The road was dusty, thirsty, and the dark clouds overhead promised reprieve within the next hours. Lucas threw the bag of grain onto the wagon and glanced around in search of his boy.

Micah caught his eyes from the door of his office and twitched his head. The tall man crossed the street with his usual few steps and frowned at his old friend. "Micah."

"Lucas, are you still looking for a hand?"

"Not precisely, but there's always work to be done."

"There's a young man Hattie sent to me – asked for work at her place and at the smithy's. Looked earnest to me."

That was praise enough to make Lucas consider. "What's his story?"

"He's not the talkative kind. Got a handsome horse but no saddle, a couple of heavy furs but only soft moccasins on his feet. And… no gun."

That raised the other man's brows. "I saw the horse… indian bred, I thought. But no gun, in this territory? That's…"

The corners of the older man's eyes lifted upward. Micah had known this last bit of information would tickle his friend. "His clothing don't make him no preacher, either."

Lucas pushed away from the chock. "Right, where do I find him? Time to get Mark home. Wind's picking up."

"Aye, we'll be having a regular autumn storm. Last I know he sat by the steps next door to the saloon."

Lucas found the stranger all right – the steps leading up to the little flat above the Locksmith's were crowded with children. His son among them, a second look told him. What kind of mischief were those boys up to now?

"Mark!"

The boy turned somewhat reluctantly and called out: "Pa, look, please, just a little bit longer! Look! He's whittling some kind of animal."

Intrigued despite himself, Lucas stepped closer. Things out here were done for practicality, not beauty. Carving an animal sounded … whimsical. And Micah thought this person could work?

There were six boys, most around Mark's age, settled around a slender man. Long, clever fingers held a short bowie knife and a block of wood. His movements were precise, well-practiced, and, Lucas noted with surprise, extremely considerate of his audience. Even more surprising – the block of wood already had the life-like shape of an otter, its head, eyes and front paws worked to precision, the hind body with the tail still raw.

"Impressive work there, mister." Lucas was anxious to get going. The trip home would take an hour in good light, and the clouds were threatening. "Mark, we have to leave soon."

"Thank you, S-" the deep, a little rough voice broke off.

McCain found himself looking into heavily-lashed, startling green eyes. The face they belonged to was fresh, diamond-shaped with a narrow nose and defined, clean-shaven chin. Not even the upper lip of an elegant, expressive mouth held a shadow. The expression on the boyish features was of quickly hidden surprise – or was it recognizance? and awe. An underlying wariness told Lucas that this boy had seen his share of life, even if he could hardly be older than twenty-and-two.

He wore a wide hat of light leather, but underneath his head was covered in a shawl of some kind, hiding the nature of the young man's hair.

Lucas noted that the left hand that had held the knife had turned it so the blade pointed inward – a movement so quick he had not seen it. Could be both to keep the children's erratic movements safe from harm, but also a defensive move.

"Mister," Mark had exchanged a glance with one of the older boys. "How long do you recon will it take you, to finish this?"

"Only a few more minutes, boy." There was warmth in the deep voice, though no smile lit the serious face. He got back to work with amazing speed, though still careful where his movements went.

"You think you could teach us, mister?"

That finally called forth a twitch in the young man's cheek. "Name's Eirik, boys. And to teach you anything, me and you'd need your parent's permission, and I'd need a job around here."

"Why?" a younger voice piped up.

"Whittling needs strength, an empty stomach doesn't really help with that."

"Ah." That was a well-known argument around here.

The answer had given McCain his opening. "Looking for work?"

"Aye, sir. I can do most of anything, if maybe not lifting horses." Again, those startling green eyes met his with appraising directness. A hint of humour glinted there.

"I've got a farm a bit out of town, there's always work to be done. Can't pay much, but we've got food enough and a bed in the barn."

"Cows or horses?"

"Cows!" Mark supplied eagerly. "We've got four new calves, too."

"Mark." Lucas admonished gently. He wanted to get this settled and go home.

The young man bent his head over his hands for a short moment, dusted the little animal with a gentle touch and presented it to the youngest boy, barely five years old.

"Oh!" the little one exclaimed, cradling the toy against him.

The stranger stood, fixed the older brother with a direct glance and said: "Help your brother put a piece of sandpaper to that. It's gonna take care of those splinters."

"Aye, mister, and thank you."

Taking a careful step out of the boys' circle, the young man held out a wary hand. "Eirik Donelly's the name, sir. I'd be grateful for the chance, and I'll do my best not to disappoint you."

"Lucas McCain. That's my boy Mark." Lucas finally smiled a little. The formal words sounded so sincere.

Donelly shook his hand with surprising strength, swallowed, and stepped back.

"Got a horse? You can ride with us right now."

"Aye, at Miss Hattie's. I'll get my things."

So even Hattie had liked the young man? She would, she had a soft spot for all those youngsters searching for a better something.

The horse was the next surprise, McCain reflected during the trip home. A dun stallion of a size that could carry even him, healthy and calm, though the muscles playing under the shining coat promised strength, speed and precision. The eyes though, they promised intelligence and youth. The young man rode bare-back, only a woven cloth and an animal skin between his long legs and the animal's back. The bridle was native-style, too, and the pack a curious contraption of two large bags that evenly distributed the weight on both sides of the horse's back, but needed not much buckling, giving the animal the most possible freedom of movement.

There was no possibility for talking on the ride, the wind whipped whatever was said from their lips. But the rain held up until they reached the farm, and with the third pair of hands the wagon was unloaded and pushed into the barn when the first drops fell.

"I'll rub down the horses, Mr. McCain." Donelly offered matter-of-factly.

Lucas nodded. "Mark, look after the fire and start setting the table."

The boy trotted off.

While taking tack and bridle of his own horse, Lucas kept an eye on Donelly as the young man expertly took care of BlueBoy. Then, showing the stranger the brushes to use for the horses, McCain enquired calmly: "That's a handsome horse you got there." He held out a hand for the stallion to nose. The big animal touched his soft mouth to the offered fingers as if in indifferent greeting and turned his head back to the young man, rubbing his shoulder affectionately.

A proprietary pride hushed over the half-hidden face. Donelly slung an arm around the dun's neck and stroked the shiny side. "Aye. He's something, all right."

"Got a name for him?"

"Spirit, for his colour."

"Had him long?"

"Since he was a colt."

Ah, that explained the symbiotic relationship between man and horse.

"Right. Pump's outside, grain for the horses over there. Dinner's in about half an hour."

The young man nodded, already brushing BlueBoy's side with practised moves.

Later, over the stew, Lucas amused himself by watching Mark watch the newcomer. Donelly was concentrating on the food, clearly appreciative, and warily curious about his surroundings. He had been almost timid in entering the house, as if aware of the intrusion he presented in the hustle and bustle the father-son-household was.

Mark's mouth had almost dropped open. Donelly had not only washed hands and face at the pump, he had changed his dusty linen shirt to one of supple leather, of the simplest style but expertly made, with the light criss-cross at the neck that spoke of native indian work. Well worn, but clean. With a clean scarf wrapped unobtrusively around his head, he looked otherworldly enough for the boy to be intrigued.

Finally the boy burst out: "Are you a Mormon or an indian?"

Lucas felt his brows rise: "Mark! Where are your manners?"

"I'm sorry, Pa. Sorry, Mr. Donelly. It's just, you look so different than normal people!"

"Don't worry, Mr. McCain." Donelly cut in, the deep voice gentle. "Mark's interest is understandable. You're an astute young man. I'm neither. My family was part amish. This-" he touched the scarf with his right hand, something wistful in his eyes, "is the last bit of my heritage I abide by. We keep our hair covered in reference to the Lord."

There was more to his words, Lucas was certain. The young man was fighting with himself to speak even these few sentences about his background.

"But your shirt, and you ride bare-back, and the shoes…" The boy was sputtering.

"Mark, enough. Let poor Mr. Donelly finish his food."

Lucas decided to touch upon a subject that made him curious. "I noticed you don't carry a gun. Part of the same heritage?"

The young man swallowed and looked up. He shrugged. "Don't like them, Sir. Don't own one, don't need one."

"But you do have a rifle?" Mark threw in, politely this time.

"No, Mark, no rifle either." The softening of Donelly's face could not quite be called a smile.

"But how do you hunt?"

"With snares, and bow and arrow, or knife."

"But how do you defend yourself if someone shoots at you?"

"Well, first of all I try not to get into situations where people shoot at me. Second, honest people accept that I don't own a gun. Fights can be settled in other ways, too."

Mark opened his mouth, more questions lurking, but Lucas put a hand on his arm. "That sounds like smart thinking, wouldn't you say, Mark? Now, if you're all done, why don't you get started with the dishes while I help Mr. Donelly with the bedding."

"Ah, ." Donelly stood uncertainly. "Don't need no bedding. I can sleep with the dun."

"No bother. We've got help out here quite often, everything's there already."

A little later Mark joined the stranger in the barn, carrying a lamp and a tin box. "Mr. Donelly. Here's a lamp you can use."

"Thank you, Mark. And the box?"

"Oh, that's nothing. BlueBoy's bridle got wet yesterday, and I need to fix it."

"Rainy day's work?"

"Aye." The boy smiled a little. "Sorry for asking so many questions at dinner. I just never seen somebody like you, Mr. Donelly."

"That's all right. And call me Eirik, please."

"Will you stay long enough to teach me how to carve, Eirik?"

The young man sighed and shrugged. "We'll see how it goes. Your Pa is a good man. Taking a chance on a stranger like that…"

"That's Pa all right."

"So, do you go to school?"

"Yes." It came out rather dejectedly.

"Do you like it?"

"Oh, school's all right, I guess, but the homework… fractions and arithmetic and volumes and such…"

"Like your teacher?"

"Oh yes. Miss Schuler is real pretty and has a nice voice. She reads to us sometimes."

"Mark? Show Mr. Donelly where we keep the blankets for the horses. Night's gonna be cold …" Lucas McCain climbed down from the loft and broke off. The horses were covered by a blanket each, the dun stallion wore the woven one that served as a saddle, too. Mark and the stranger were sitting over the bridle and saddle that needed fixing and were working companionably.

The young man looked up and asked quietly: "Please, Mr. McCain, name's Eirik."

The addressed smiled in appreciation. "All right, Eirik, that was quick thinking with the horses. Can you finish up here? Mark needs to go to bed."

"Do I have to go to school tomorrow?"

"Depends on the storm, Mark. We'll see. Come on. Good night, Eirik."

"Good night, Mr. McCain, Mark."

…..

"So, Lucas Boy, how is it going with that farmhand of yours?"

"Well, Micah, he's all right. Mark's taken to him."

"You leaving him to tend the farm while you're in town speaks for him."

"Aye. He might not look strong, but he's quick on his feet, even quicker with his head." Lucas took a sip of the beer they were sharing on the porch of Micah's office.

"I have some stories, though I can't say how reliable they are. Donnelly's a common name up north."

"Oh aye? He's mighty sparse with his words. Only the boy gets him to open up a bit."

"Mind you, that story comes down thousands of miles."

"Thousands?" Lucas narrowed his eyes. He'd known the youngster wasn't from around here, but…

"I heard there was a Donelly family up north in or near Montreal. Fur traders of irish ancestry, big extended family, two smaller children. Got into a fight with the natives there, something about money, I'm sure. House got burned down, only one child lived. Was a big story back then, maybe fifteen years ago. Child was said to be about ten. No relatives left. It was said the child vanished into the woods."

"Natives took him?" Lucas pulled up the collar of his coat. Winter was coming.

"That's the strange part. Nothing more is known. Only suddenly a young man of the name Donelly turns up in Kansas, asks around for a man named Benton."

"Benton?" Something rang in Lucas' head.

"Aye, and by the look on your face you've heard that name too. Business-man, worst reputation, a man you'd not leave Mark alone with."

"Who hails from up north, too. Came south with a small fortune, looking to buy into either oil or gold."

"Ever crossed paths with him, Lucas?"

"No, Micah. Not sure I'd want to. Last known whereabouts of this Benton?"

"Nothing certain."

The tall rifleman rubbed his chin. "And Donelly has a couple of furs that don't originate from around here… I just hope this boy hasn't brought trouble our way."

To Mark, who was just coming to join his father, pockets full from Miss Hattie's store, he called: "Mark, lets ride on home."

…

McCain returned from a detour to the neighbour's farm to find Eirik and Mark crouching over something in the middle of the yard, sticks in hand.

A quick look around told him that neither had dawdled – the place was clean, wood was cut and stapled safely, horses and the young calves had water. So Mark would be free to do his homework… but of course, the boy would find anything to keep him from doing that.

"What you've got there?" Both the young man and the boy had straightened as Lucas rode in, and now Mark turned to him with a decidedly odd look on his face.

"I think I got it, Pa." The boyish features cleared, he pushed gently at Eirik beside him and threw his stick into the air. "I got it, Pa, I really have!"

Lucas frowned, completely confused. "Got what, Mark?" Into the dusty earth a few symbols were scratched – circles and squares and numbers.

"Those stupid fractions! They make sense now! I've got to try this out. I'll do my homework now, Pa!" He scampered off like a colt.

It was the first time Lucas had noticed the other man grinning outright. Between the two of them, Mark and him had managed to make their young farmhand smile now and then, softening the somewhat stern features into an endearingly expressive face that suddenly spoke of Eirik's true age. But now, the smile spread from ear to ear, he'd caught his tongue between his teeth and was scratching his head lightly. A strand of shiny light-brown hair had escaped the scarf and he was pushing it back under the cover absentmindedly. Growing aware of the piercing blue eyes on him, Eirik blushed lightly, erased the figures with his foot and met Lucas' gaze.

"Hope I didn't overstep, Sir." He buried his hands in the pockets of his pants, the gesture so innocent and embarrassed that Lucas blinked bemusedly.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Only just now. I'd gotten back from looking after the calving cow and he came out to the yard, looking for chores to do, because he was so frustrated with homework. So I asked him what it was."

"Well, as long as you don't do it for him, and other chores don't get left behind, I got no problem. But…" he struggled to put this politely. "Did you study to be a teacher?"

"No. But I read and write and do numbers."

Having seen the young man's delight at Mark's victorious exit, Lucas tilted his head, looking at the farmhand through his lashes. "I get a feeling you're being very modest, Eirik. You're quick with your hands, but that head of yours is your biggest strength and weapon."

The transformation on the young man's face startled McCain. Eirik's features closed up, his eyes darkened, lips pressing together.

Lucas reached out to clasp the boy's shoulder. "That was a compliment, Eirik."

The boy had startled at the touch, and lifted his head to meet McCain's gaze again. His eyes held a question. "Thank you, Mr. McCain."

"Now. Anything out of the ordinary happen?"

"No, Sir. Though that cow troubles me. Seems like the calf is lying wrong."

"Still?" Lucas grimaced. If the calf was breech, they'd most certainly loose the cow and the calf. He rubbed a hand over his face tiredly. This was not what they needed right now.

"Let me take care of the horse, Sir." The young man pulled the dark mare away to free her of the saddle.

Lucas headed for the house, but hesitated on the porch.

"Eirik," he called to the lanky figure near the horse patch. "How much do you know about birthing cows?"

The young man turned his head, face pale against the backdrop of the horse's dark hide. His voice was heavy. "I'm not certain it is enough. I helped birth a breeched foal once."

Lucas nodded, considering. That was about the amount of experience he had, too.

"Would you mind bringing her into the corral after dinner?"

"Aye, Sir. That's a good idea. Have her close, watch her. Though I'll go now."

Lucas stuck his head out the door when Donelly whistled, a low melodic sound. The dun stallion calmly trotted toward the corral's opening, waited for the young man to release him and stood patiently while Donelly locked the other horses in again. The farmhand grabbed the long stave he never seemed to go without and swung himself onto the big horse's back without the help of bridle, stirrup or even a length of rope. It was a move that left Lucas impressed – Donelly was not tall, hardly reaching Lucas' shoulder, and the horse was one of the biggest McCain had seen – yet the man had jumped lightly, swinging a leg over and righting himself in one smooth motion, and the stallion had started to move without waiting for any visible sign. As they galloped away in the sinking light, it seemed to him the two creatures moved as one.

Pursing his lips in appreciation and a little envy, Lucas entered the house.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The lamp had gone out when Lucas startled from uneasy sleep. With a soundless oath he stood, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He'd meant to stay awake until the youngster returned with the cow. By the looks of the stars, it was after midnight. It shouldn't have taken the kid as long…

A sound reached his ear – could be a cow's low cough, or a mountain lion. Grabbing his rifle, he noiselessly stepped onto the porch.

The dun stallion stood in the yard, over where the horse corral was. He seemed half asleep, which reassured McCain – if a predator was around, the horses would throw alarm, especially one like Spirit. He'd have to ask Eirik about breeding him…

Lucas quickly walked over to the small corral reserved for calving or a bull. Bessie was there all right, and the young man was sitting at her head, stroking her nose and flank, speaking in low, calming tones.

Speaking no language Lucas could identify. He stood watching the scene for a long moment, considering this contradictory young man. He certainly had a hand for animals.

Bessie had settled down, munching contentedly.

Donelly swung over the corral without making a sound, his movements slow and tired. Well, rightly so, Lucas thought.

"Eirik." he pitched his voice low, not wanting to disturb the animals.

The farmhand's reaction was unexpected and explosive. Donelly had bent down to retrieve the long stave he had put on the floor dealing with Bessie, and at Lucas' address startled badly, flying around in a lightning-quick move that landed him in a defensive stance, the wooden stick's end resting almost against Lucas' throat.

Automatically the tall man had his rifle at the ready. "Donelly! It's me!"

The boy took a step back, beyond words for a moment. His breath came fast, a white cloud in the cold air. "I'm sorry, Mr. McCain. You startled me."

"I gathered that." Lucas put all the irony he could muster into his voice. "Met with trouble? You took a long time."

"No trouble, just Bessie being stubborn. I - I took the roundabout way, it was too dark to get her here safely via the decline."

"Good man. Come, there's food left."

"Sir, I'm exhausted. I appreciate it, but I'd rather go to bed."

Lucas frowned a little. There was something raw in the boy's voice… "Sure. See you in the morning. And thanks, for bringing in Bessie."

"'t was no trouble, Mr. McCain. Good Night."

The tall man looked after the slender one with a worried expression. There were a few things about this boy that needed thinking over.

…

"Next morning, Eirik was the same as always. Awake before Mark or me, fed the animals, took care of Bessie, started with the chores of the day. Seemed almost chipper in the cold air." Lucas grumbled over his coffee.

Micah grinned at his friend. "So he's good with that staff. I mean he couldn't have survived without any guns if he didn't have skills somewhere else."

"Oh, that didn't surprise me much, Micah. That lazy soft way he moves - almost like a predator. No. – I'm fairly certain he was speaking some kind of native dialect."

Micah let that stand, frowning. Natives were an uneasy subject in these parts. "Mark said you got a healthy calf."

"Oh, aye, didn't take more than three days for Bessie to wake us all in the night. It was five hours hard work, but both the cow and the calf are healthy. Donelly's got good instincts."

"And you're no newcomer yourself. Got a good hand there, Lucas. I'm glad for you."

"Aye, good with Mark, hard-working, but not a word about his past. Something bothers me about him."

"Maybe you'll just have to ask him…"

"Aye. But many a man left for the wrong question, and that would be a pity."

"At least he's coming to town these days. Folk's been mighty curious. Handsome boy like that... Seems Miss Schuler tried to tell him off for interfering, but he won her over real quick."

"Oh?"

"She was suspicious of him, and now watch her simpering."

It was true, McCain noted with a smirk. The schoolteacher was a pretty woman, cornrows of blond hair crowned a round face with smart, quick blue eyes. Her hands were dainty and soft, but she had a no-nonsense personality combined with a pearly laugh that had the children love and respect her at the same time.

"You're coming for dinner, Micah? Mark brought home quite a catch today."

"Happy to, Lucas. Curious whether that young man will join us, or find a place to eat in town."

McCain grinned outright. "Best of luck to him." The two young people made a lovely picture.

"Right, see you later, Sherriff."

Approaching the pair, Lucas resolved to ask the young man a few pointed questions at the next opportunity. "G'day to you, Miss Schuler. Donelly, I just wanted to let you know that I'll be riding back now. Mark is staying with a friend and will ride home later with Sherriff Torrance. Would you pick up the last of the horseshoes before you come up to the farm?"

"Right, , I wanted to ask the smith something anyways. I'll ride with you now."

He took his leave of the schoolteacher with honest friendliness.

…..

Micah Torrence made no secret of his delight in the fresh fish. Mark tried to hide his pride, but as all of the three men at the table fawned over the food, the boy's proud smile broke free.

"Maybe next time I'll give one trout to you, Eirik, so you can give it to Miss Schuler. She said she liked fresh fish."

Lucas and Micah exchanged a glance. But Donelly answered without pause.

"Well, Mark, I'm sure I'd rather join you and fish for myself, and I'm sure Miss Schuler would be very happy if you gave her the fish yourself."

Mark, undeterred, pushed on. "She's a mighty fine woman, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh absolutely. She's really smart and funny, too."

"And beautiful, I mean that hair…"

"Mark, don't overdo it." Micah admonished gently.

Eirik looked up, alerted by the tone of the older man's voice. Finding barely repressed mirth and good-natured teasing in both men's faces and studied innocence in the boy's, he let out a breath, pulling a face that had the other men laugh out loud.

"Oh bloody hell." He blushed lightly. "I walked right into that one, didn't I. Look, she's an impressive girl, no mistake, but I am not looking for a wife."

"Does she know that, lad?" Micah managed his usual half steel, half teasing tone.

The young man met the inquisitive glance with a stubborn twist to his lips. "Thanks for the warning, Sheriff. I'll keep it in mind. Here, Mark, I'll help you with the dishes."

While the two young men worked, Micah and Lucas stepped out onto the porch. They could hear the farmhand and the boy joking and fighting.

"I have to ask that farmhand of yours after his horse, I've never seen such a magnificent animal, Lucas."

"You do that, Micah." Lucas answered while lighting a cigar. Lighting Micah's too, the tall man rested against the crock. "Stay for a bit, will you? It's been a while."

They smoked in silence.

It had become quiet in the inner room, and the door opened to the lanky silhouette.

"Cigar?" Lucas offered.

"No, thanks."

"No whiskey, no cigars, good with animals and numbers – where exactly did you come from?" Micah teased, drawing the words out.

"I like the smell, though never acquired a taste, for either." The young man shrugged, pushing his hat down on his head. "Well, thank you for dinner, Mr McCain. I'll leave -"

"Donelly, I was wondering if I might have a look at that horse of yours."

Something stiffened in the way the young man held himself, but he answered easily enough. "Certainly, Sheriff. I'll call him."

While Donelly stepped off the porch, uttering the low whistle Lucas already knew, Mark joined them. "Can I come, too?"

"Yes, but grab your coat, son, it's cold."

"But Eirik isn't wearing anything."

"Mark."

It only took the one word and the boy grudgingly retreated.

Coming toward the two men with the large stallion's head over his shoulder, Donelly's glance rested on the Marshal. "Sir, maybe take this into the barn? It's mighty cold out here."

Lucas nodded, and while the young man turned direction, shot a glance at his old friend. The sheriff looked decidedly miserable, hands burying into the pockets of his coat, collar upturned, shoulders hunched. Meeting the piercing blue eyes, an evil sparkle entered the dark ones, and Lucas had to keep from grinning. Micah was playacting, for what reason would probably become clear soon.

Mark came running after them, two lamps in hand.

"Ever thought of breeding him, Eirik?" Lucas asked directly, stepping through the door and closing it behind him. It was a few degrees warmer in here, out of the cold wind. The few lamps were lit quickly.

"I've been approached a few times, but to be honest, none of the people appealed to me."

"That's a weird thing to say. I'm sure you'd have earned a lot of money…"

"Maybe. If Spirit were… Look, Sir, he's special to me, more than you could understand. Any offspring of his should have a good life. It's upon me to make sure of that."

Lucas felt his cheeks redden a little under the very direct gaze of the green eyes. There was a line there on the forehead of the young man he had not noticed before. Eirik stood with his shoulders squared, feet placed slightly apart, hands in his pockets. And still, something about his pose seemed false, studied.

"I get your meaning." Mark supported from the background. "I wouldn't hand BlueBoy to just anybody either."

The men laughed at that.

"I was just wondering that word of such a magnificent animal hasn't spread around. I mean any horse trader would quite possibly literally kill for him, or try to steal him."

While Donelly had hunched his shoulders at the first part of Micah's words, at the last half of the sentence an honest, almost sunny smile hushed over the expressive features. "All right, I guess I've got some explaining to do. The killing part may have been tried once or twice, but since I stay out of big cities for the most part, and know to take care of myself, it never worked out."

"You say you can take care of yourself – not from a shot in the back." Lucas threw in quietly.

The young man leaned against the tall horse's side, who in turn snaked his head over his shoulder to sniff at his hands and pockets. "I guess I better answer your second question first, Marshal, then the first one will be answered as well." Eirik grimaced, squaring his shoulders. One hand reached into Spirit's mane as if for support. "He's indian trained, since birth."

"What!" Mark called out, mouth hanging slightly open.

McCain tilted his head slightly and threw in calmly: "Didn't you say you were there when he was born?"

The expression in the young man's face as he met the taller man's eyes was a well-constructed distance badly hiding wariness. "Aye."

"I don't understand." Mark's voice broke the silence inquisitively. "So you bought him from them? But how could you train him indian way? You're not indian, are you? I mean your skin is too light and your hair, too. And what does that have to do with people trying to steal him?"

While the tension was still written clearly in the farmhand's stance, his lips twitched.

"Indian bread means that he recognizes me as friend more than owner, and that he will return to me if he's stolen. He'll alert me to strangers nearby, same as to a predator."

Lucas could feel Micah's glance on him, but would not move. The younger man was speaking to him mostly, and he owed it to him to honour his trust.

"Spirit saved my life more than once, and vice versa."

One last thing had to be touched. Lucas kept his voice even. "How did you get him."

Donelly pressed his lips together, head sinking forward slightly. Then he took a breath, squared his shoulders minutely and said: "I was living with the Athabasca then. Spirit was a breech foal, and the tribe had lost their healer the winter before. So they thought mare and foal were lost. I begged them to let me try and help - the mare was even more beautiful than him." He patted the slender, elegant neck affectionately. "It was agreed that should I manage to save both, the foal would be mine. I had help. Both lived. Spirit was mine." The horse rubbed his nose against Donelly's face gently, proving to Lucas how close their connection was.

"BlueBoy does that too, sometimes. He can tell when I'm upset." Mark tried to alleviate the heavy silence.

"How long did you live with the natives?" that was Micah, dry and even.

"Does that matter, Sheriff?"

"No, I guess not." The older man grumbled, eyes buried by the creases of his grimace. "Well, Lucas?"

"I'll pack my things, . I'll be gone tomorrow at daylight." Eirik's deep voice was toneless, but steely. He met the taller man's thoughtful gaze with a calm expression. The dejection could only be read in the way his shoulders slumped against the support of the stallion.

"I have only one question, Donelly. Is there anything in your past that could follow you here, endanger my son?"

"I would not have stayed had I thought so, Sir." Donelly's answer was thoughtlessly quick, his glance at the boy wide-eyed.

Lucas' hands relaxed where he had crossed them across his chest. "Then nobody's speaking of leaving."

"Oh, thank God." Mark walked over to the young man, only to be liberally slobbered by the horse. "I would sure miss you, Eirik."

"Thanks, Mark, I'd sure miss you too." The quick answer only partly masked the emotion the young man was trying to hide.

Lucas stood watching the trio, considering the last half hour with all its implications. A few observations fell into place with this piece of background, other things still did not fit. As if feeling his gaze, Eirik looked up. For a long moment the two men stood, taking each other's measure anew. The rifleman thought the ever present wariness had receded from the younger man's face, something had cleared in his expression, in the way the green eyes shone warmly suddenly.

Donelly nodded fractionally at him, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes almost showing, and Lucas nodded back. Pushing away from the chock, he addressed his son. "Let's head back to the house where it's warmer. You're welcome, too, Eirik."

"How can you sleep in this cold, anyway?" Micah grimaced, hunching his shoulders in demonstration.

"Oh, he's got the most marvellous fur!" Mark exclaimed, "He showed it to me this morning!"

"Because you practically forced me to, young man!" The relief of the last minutes still swung warmly in the young man's voice.

"It's a bear skin!" the boy was almost jumping up and down.

"Those are not often seen in these parts." Micah supplied evenly, a lilt of curiosity just noticable.

Wryly the young man pushed away from the horse, walked into the back of the barn and returned with an unobtrusive roll of cloth. Unfolding that, a truly marvellous example of what had to be a grizzly skin hung from his arms.

"You'll be warm in that, I'm certain." McCain thought there was no reason to hide how impressive that fur was.

"Did you kill it yourself?"

"Mark, enough now. Time for you to get to bed." The boy would be lost to his imagination anyway after tonight.

"I'll tell you how I got it some other time. Can't share all my secrets at once." Eirik winked at Mark, who grinned happily.

"Good night then, Eirik!"

"I'll look after the horses, Mr. McCain, and turn in, too. - Sheriff." He tipped his hat to the older man, nodded at Lucas and left the barn, the dun stallion at his heels.

"Feel better about him?" Micah asked directly.

"Aye, though I didn't think you'd have so much acting in you. Never known you to be so scared of the cold…" Lucas accused the sheriff. Laughing, they returned to the house.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Saturday next, dinner had been eaten and cleaned away. Mark had asked if Eirik could help him with homework, and now the two of them were sitting at the table, and Lucas at his smaller desk going over his books. Now and then he'd steal a glance at the pair, heads bent low over the book, Eirik trying to explain some problem with hands and feet and as many words, and Mark ruffling his hair.

"Ah, I need something to write. Mark, let's finish this tomorrow when there's light and we can use the yard floor for drawing. I'd be wasting paper if I keep this up."

"Can we, Pa? I finished the writing and reading, and most of the arithmetic stuff."

"He's truly almost got it, sir, only if I can paint a picture or three for him it will stick."

The young man had bright spots on his cheeks, same as Mark. The boy's eyes were pleading, the young man's shone with a mixture of frustration and humour.

"All right. But remember that when you nag me about playing a little bit longer with your friends after church."

"Yes Pa." Mark jumped up and moved his books away.

Eirik stood, about to leave, but Lucas closed his book with a bang, too, and offered: "What about a game of scrabble?"

The young man's shy smile was gratifying.

While Mark carried the board to the table, Eirik scanned room, his expression thoughtful. Lucas noticed the way the green eyes caught on the mouth organ lying half-forgotten on the cupboard.

"Go on, play, if you're any good."

"Don't know, haven't tried it in ages." But as if by themselves, the long, slender fingers reached out and touched the little instrument gently. He brought it to his lips, and self-consciously began to play.

After the first notes it became clear that "any good" was in no way adequate to describe the farmhand's proficiency. With rising confidence Eirik coaxed melody after melody out of the nondescript little box of metal, closing his eyes finally and giving in to the pull of the music.

Wide-eyed, Mark crept towards his father and nestled into his arms, Lucas himself had trouble swallowing suddenly, so heartfelt was the impulse behind the haunting notes.

Finally, the young man segued into an old love-song, and Lucas felt his shirt get wet where his son's cheek rested. So he cleared his throat at the end, startling Eirik out of his reverie and meeting overflowing green eyes.

"Good Lord, I am so sorry, Mr. McCain. Mark, I… I guess I got carried away." The deep voice was rough.

"It seemed that way." Lucas made an effort to hit that sarcastic note that would break the melancholy. "Next time give fair warning. I don't think Mark has heard music like this before."

The boy sniffed unceremoniously, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Pa, when I was little…"

"Aye, son." Lucas interrupted gently.

Eirik placed the harmonica on the board and headed for the door. "Again, I am so sorry. Good Night." He'd left before Lucas could utter a word.

"What was with him?" Mark enquired bemusedly.

"What were you going to say before? When you were little?"

"I'm not certain. Just that when he played that last song, it was like I was dreaming."

"Describe the dream to me, Mark."

"It smelled of home – not like it does here, but different, like at Miss Hattie's and here mixed together. Gentler. And I was being lulled to sleep by her-"

He broke off, staring at his father with wide, scared eyes. "I remembered Mum, didn't I?"

Lucas had to rub his hand over his eyes, gathering his son to him for a moment. "I think so, Mark. She liked music, was always humming. She loved dancing, too…"

"I know, you told me. Did you get homesick for her, too?"

"A little." He couldn't lie to his boy.

"It was like a tide inside me, when he played. Like I couldn't hold on to anything and was being swept along. Like when I fell into the river that one time." Mark had his enthusiasm back. "Wonder if he can teach me how to play like that. He did teach me a little about carving. You think playing the harmonica is harder than carving?"

"I think you might have an easier time of the harmonica than of the carving. You've got an ear for melodies." He'd noticed that before, the boy sang along in church clear as a bird.

"But why did he leave like that?"

"My guess would be that that tide that grabbed you pulled him along too, only worse, because it started within him."

"Was it bad that I started crying?"

"No, son. That's music, and your mother's voice in your memories."

"You don't think Eirik was embarrassed?"

"Mark, had you looked closely at him, you'd have seen that his eyes were as full as yours. He left because he didn't want to embarrass us."

He'd seen young men like Donnelly during his time in the army. The sensitive ones, who hardened the hard way, who's eyes shone with childlike terror. He'd seen some break, and some make it, some become twisted. This young man would have been almost of an age to be drafted when the war ended. There was an otherworldly quality to Eirik, eyes that saw too far ahead, had seen too much. But not been broken by it, even gained strength from the stones in his path. He'd like to know more about the young man.

….

"Join us for church, Eirik?"

"Nah, Mr. McCain. Church's not for me, today at least."

"What will you do then?" Mark's voice held jealousy.

The young man hesitated, laughter in his eyes. He pushed the scarf at his throat higher over his face. "I'll go rob somebody."

Lucas laughed, Mark laughed, and the duo rode off in their best Sunday gear. When Lucas looked back once, the young farmhand was still standing there, looking after them.

…..

It was early afternoon when they returned. Letting the horses go free, Lucas looked into the barn. "Eirik?"

"Aye, Sir, here."

The young man was kneeling behind the building, a fresh animal skin spread before him, a small earthen pot steaming with a pungent mixture beside him. A small block of what could only be beeswax rested in his hand as he now looked up. A tiny fire burned lazily beside him.

Taking in the scene, Lucas could not help but notice the large, elegant bow and staff lying to one side. "Got lucky?"

The boy grimaced. "I never meant to hunt him. He crossed my path and wanted my bounty. But Sir, I wanted to ask you something." He got up in one fluid motion.

Momentarily distracted, the tall man frowned. "What is it?"

"I wondered if I might give Mark a small gift."

Lucas felt his brows climb. "That's mighty generous of you. What were you thinking of?"

"Last night, when we were doing his calculations, the thought came to me. Paper is expensive, but there is another way." His face a picture of studied manliness, pride and uncertainty, Eirik produced a slim wooden tablet.

Looking it over carefully, understanding bloomed in the rifleman's head. It was a tablet, all right, but one side, within a narrow frame, held half an inch of pure beeswax. "A wax tablet?" It was expertly crafted, too, the narrow frame decorated with the whole alphabet, numbers and a few funny figures. He'd seen few like it.

"So he can try and draw and scribble, and clean it all up in one move."

"But these are mighty expensive, I know Miss Hattie had one for show once. There's no need to spend this much on the boy, he'll get along fine…"

Eirik took a breath to reply, only to be interrupted by the subject of their discussion.

"Pa, Pa, look!" Marc held a large glass jar with a clear, dark, viscous liquid in it. "Honey! Somebody left us a jar of honey on the kitchen table!"

A slow grin of surprise spread over Lucas' face. "That's who you went to rob? Bees?"

"You? Eirik, you brought the honey? Oh, what's that? Did you go hunting? Are you curing the fur? Can I watch? Pa?"

"Mark…"

Eirik caught Lucas' eye with a slight wink and said. "I need to finish this now before the skin turns stiff. You can watch, if your dad agrees, but afterwards we'll do your homework."

The boy's face did not twitch. "Pa?"

Lucas was still considering the tablet in his hand. "You made this yourself?"

Eirik nodded, his gaze direct, while his hands already busied themselves with the skin.

"Good work, young man. We can talk later." Hefting the little board in his hands, he returned to the house, while Mark settled down to watch, questions never running out.

…..

"Pa, the pump is broken again." Mark turned from the sink.

Lucas suppressed an oath. "Can you finish the washing outside, son? I'll have a look."

While the boy carried the dishes into the yard, Lucas grabbed his tools.

That's how the farmhand found him, lying under the cupboard.

"What's the matter, ? Mark said the pump's broken?"

"Aye, I might have to send you to town for a new connecting rod." Lucas held up a thin rod of metal, a little bent at one end.

"I think the problem might not be the rod, might be the well casing."

"Oh?" Lucas narrowed his eyes.

"See how the rod is bent here where it broke – seems the bucket piston is somewhat loose inside the casing. Too much leeway for the movement puts too much strain on the rod – makes it break that much quicker."

For a second the tall man stared in surprise. Eirik's words were matter-of-fact and thoughtless.

"How many pumps have you assembled and dissembled?"

That brought the expressive eyes upwards from the steel rod with a jolt. "A few."

Don't let the young man think too much. "What would you suggest?"

"Can't say much without looking at the whole thing. Could also be a weak part in the plunger or the pump flange. But since the broken bit is this long, I'll stick with my first assessment."

Lucas grunted, coming to a decision. "I haven't heard you put so many words together yet. You take over the pump. Tell me if you need anything from the smith's."

Lucas pushed the pliers he still held into the slender hands and straightened his shoulders. He was too big to be crouched under the sink for long anyway.

An hour later he was joined at the henhouse by the farmhand.

"Mr. McCain, got a minute?" Eirik carried the wet piston before him.

The tall man straightened, hefting the hammer in one hand. "Aye."

"I can get the pump working for the moment, but it will keep breaking. The whole contraption from inlet valve to flange is badly adjusted."

"Oh?"

"The casing is sound, handle, pump stand and spout, too. Were they made by a different smith?"

"The lower part is the same as the pump in the yard. The handle is newer." Lucas rubbed his neck bemusedly. It was true, the smith then had moved away shortly after.

"If you want peace from the thing…" the young man trailed off, embarrassment on his features.

"No, go on." God, this was going to be expensive.

"I… have a proposition."

Lucas suppressed a smile. Eirik falling into formal speech was funny.

"Propose away."

The young man blushed this time, but grinned in acknowledgment. "I would ask Swenson for use of his equipment, and widen the sunk bit – the old piston and the valve casing – the material is sound. It's just that the dimensions don't fit. Shouldn't cost too much money. I can even fix the old rod."

"And if you break it?"

"You can take it out of my next payment."

Lucas felt his brows climb. The young man was that certain of himself? "Well, then, go talk to Swenson." He considered the delighted smile pulling at the expressive mouth. "Eirik, if this works, you better check the old pump out here in the yard, too."

"Sure, Mr. McCain. Second time is always easier. Do we need anything else from town?"

"Bring some of those sweets for Mark, if you would. He's due a small surprise."

Lucas watched the young man gather the pump parts together in a roll of burlap and swing onto the stallion's back. Eirik glanced back once, and when he found the rifleman watching, he lifted a hand. Lucas gave a nod and turned back to his work, thoughts sorting through their conversation. First the wax tablet, now the pump? This farmhand proved more resourceful than he had anticipated from such a lanky youth.


	4. Chapter 4

"Lucas, I was wondering whether I could have a quick word with you."

"But sure, Miss Hattie, what's it about?"

"This young man who's been working on your farm." The old lady beamed. "Such a polite fellow, always ready to lend a hand, always friendly."

"What has he done?" Lucas smiled, expecting either a love story or some such nonsense.

"I was wondering if I might, well, steal him from you for a time."

"Oh?" now that was a turn he had not expected.

"Well, my niece is getting married down in Cleveland. I was hoping I might commission a wedding gift from Mr. Donelly. He's so good with these carvings of his. You don't happen to know what he would charge for one?"

"Well, Hattie, you'd have to ask him, on both accounts. I certainly would not object, as long as it doesn't take too much time from him."

Lucas left the older woman with a slight smile, but also a frown on his face. This could be a perfect opportunity for the young man – he would not be a farmhand forever, that much was certain.

Sharing coffee with Micah, he watched the young man amble aimlessly through town, exchanging greetings and nods here and there, count the few coins he had brought and change directions to Hattie's shop. The old lady did not waste time, and came up to Eirik with her usual busy friendliness.

From where they sat, the two men could watch Donelly's face go through all stages of colour and expression, and finally he nodded at his interlocutor, tipped his hat to her and turned, purchase forgotten. Burying his hands deep in his pockets, hunching his shoulders, he slowly walked away until he was out of sight.

"Seems he has to think about it." Micah leered. "I wonder why."

Lucas threw him a glance. "Got something to say, Micah, say it."

"Oh, just that he seems to like working on your farm."

Lucas padded down to the smith's – ostensibly for some nails, in truth he wanted to satisfy his curiosity: the pumps were both working stable and clean. Sure, one would have to wait for the durability, but somehow he trusted the young man's work.

Swenson wanted to talk about the boy more than he wanted to sell nails.

"I asked Donelly if he had apprenticed for a smith, but he said no."

Lucas had to shrug. "Doesn't talk much about his past, that boy."

"He knew his way around the place, the equipment. The work he did was precision. Couldn't have done it much better myself."

"I was impressed, too."

"You should be. You can send him down any time. And if he ever wants to earn some extra money…"

He was going to loose that help any moment now, Lucas surmised grimly.

Freddy, the red-haired son of the Swenson pair barrelled into the smithy, eyes wide.

"Dad! Dad!"

"Wohow there, Freddy, what's the matter?"

"A fight , just outside of town. But the one man has no guns! He don't want no fight."

Grabbing the boy's shoulder, McCain asked. "Who?"

"It's the Dorcas brothers, sir. And he who works for you - Mr. Donnelly."

A sense of urgency overcame Lucas. Those brothers were rough folk, large men with quick tempers and little respect for a human life.

"Get the Sheriff!" He grabbed his rifle, jumped onto the horse he had just been about to harness and galloped out.

The picture that presented itself to him and to the few men riding up behind him wasn't that unusual.

A group of men had gathered between the last building of the town, forming a loose circle. The three Dorcas brothers stood to one side, the slender youth to the other. Donelly had his staff in one hand, the other relaxed at his side. Just then, the younger Dorcas, Liam, called out: "All right, no guns, Donelly. We'll do it your way. But if you've got that stick, I get my knife." Hefting the announced, he pounced on the younger man. Donelly stepped to the side nimbly, using the moment to say loudly: "I don't want this fight."

"But you got it now, boy. Gonna make a man out of that baby face of yours."

Liam closed in on Donelly, slower this time, leering hungrily.

A short back and forth ensued, no contact was made. Lucas pushed through the people, only to have a hand on his arm hold him back. "Let them finish, McCain."

"What's the grievance?"

"Seems Cade, the youngest, has his eyes set on Miss Schuler, and doesn't like the way your farmhand has been carrying on with her."

Another bystander chimed in: "Ah, he never had no chance with her. Donelly was just being friendly, is all. More'n can be said for any of the Dorcas."

A cry went through the crowd – Liam's knife went flying wide, Donelly stood calmly on feet set apart. With a furious growl the broader man lowered his head and charged, like a bull. Donelly stepped aside, having the other stumble over the outstretched staff. Laughter ensued, though the two brothers frowned deeply.

"Liam, here." The oldest threw his brother his knife – a longer version than his own, giving him a decided advantage.

A few cries of "unfair" could be heard, but Donnelly's only reaction was that he took his hat off, throwing it to the side.

Bending his knees deeper, he awaited his antagonist. "I made no advances to Miss Schuler, regardless how it may have seemed to you. It was just friendly talk. If she's rejecting your brother, it was none of my doing."

Liam had gathered to his feet. "You've been bothering me since you came to town. So clean, such a girly face, and what's with that turban?"

There was laughter all around.

"And which respectable man refuses to carry a gun?"

"Maybe he can't afford one?" someone cried.

Liam played to the crowd, jeering some more, and with a sudden, vicious move tried to surprise the young man. But Donelly lightning quick evaded to the side and swung the staff in a sharp arch: The knife fell from the immobilized right hand of the other man. Another quick stab, Liam fell to his knees, cradling his hurt wrist to him. Donnelly rested the staff lightly on the burly man's clavicle.

"Enough." He was breathing faster.

"Dean, No!" Cade tried to hold the oldest brother back. "It's done!" But the other one shrugged off his coat in a determined fashion and stepped into the ring, his brother's knife in one hand.

"What if I take that staff from you, boy? Let's see how mighty you are then…"

Murmuring went through the audience, the oldest Dorcas was known for his pure strength and brutality.

Lucas made a move to step in, rifle at the ready. But Micah pushed through the crowd right between the two men and called clearly: "What's going on here?"

"None of your business, sheriff." Dean growled, starting to walk the circle.

"It's ok, sheriff. I gotta finish this." Donnelly's voice was deep and calm.

Micah stepped back. He found Lucas' eyes over the crowd and nodded – they'd look out for foul play.

Lucas pressed his lips together – too different seemed the outset of this match. Dorcas a grizzly and Donelly a…

The fight started, and the whole group of people held their breath. For a while it seemed Dean Dorcas would not get to touch the more slender man – the staff twirled and twirled, dipping and flying, hard to follow with bare eyes. The muscular man seemed to strike a few punches here and there, Donelly had to be wary of the knife. But then the bigger man got hold of the wooden stick and held it at shoulder level with both hands. Staring down into the younger man's face, he grinned widely. With a vicious pull he tried to loosen Donnelly's grip on the wood, but Donelly did not let go, and instead used the other man's surprise to drop down on his knees, pulling Dorcas with him. Setting a foot right against the other man's chest and rolling backwards he half pulled, half threw his heavy opponent overhead. Dorcas landed with a dusty crash, needing a moment to right himself. Donelly already stood, chest heaving this time.

He looked up for a second, and met Lucas eyes. The rifleman didn't know what his face betrayed, but for some reason Donelly seemed mortified to find his employer watching him. Lucas frowned at the wide-eyed, wary glance the youth regarded him with, and grew aware of a change in the situation. The younger Dorcas had crept up behind Donelly while his brother was still catching his breath, and reached out to jump the younger man. A shout escaped the rifleman's lips, and Donelly was warned. Liam managed to get his arms around the farmhand, but Eirik bent forward into a half roll and threw his opponent to the floor, landing half way over him. Jeering rose from the crowd. Donelly stood quickly, staff at the ready, and glanced around. Seeing the oldest Dorcas hunched over staring at his brother with brooding eyes, the youngest Dorcas stepped into the ring hesitantly.

"Get 'im, Cade!" the eldest growled.

These two men at least were of the same figure, more or less, the onlookers commented between them. Cade ran at Eirik, who threw the staff lightly to the side and turned with the onslaught. Using his hips as lever, fists buried in the other's shirt, he used Cade's momentum to lever him over his hip and a heartbeat later the blond young man lay in the sand, blinking up bemusedly.

The farmhand climbed to his feet and held out a hand to Cade. "I swear to you I have no design on your girl. She's all yours – though the problem might not be me, might be your family."

That brought friendly mumbling all around. Even Cade had to grin. He gripped the offered hand and pulled himself upright.

Lucas saw the oldest Dorcas move, and so did others. Donelly moved even faster. Eyes widening, he pushed Cade out of the way. While he managed to deflect the long blade Dorcas had regained, the sheer momentum of the large man could not be countered cleanly. Dorcas managed to score a few vicious punches to Eirik's stomach and then pinned the breathless younger man underneath him, the staff uselessly locked with the long blade. With an evil grin he started pulling a second knife from his shoe.

But by then Lucas and another, leather-skinned man, were there, pulling the bulky man upright and back from the slender youth. Blue eyes met dark ones over the staggering fighter.

"Sam Buckhart."

"Lucas McCain."

"Well met, old friend." They exchanged a smirk over the struggling troublemaker, who reeked of whiskey.

"Trouble, McCain?"

"Nothing the sheriff can't handle, I'm sure."

During the resulting commotion, Micah had the growling Dorcas taken to the prison for a night to cool off and sober up.

"Sam, let me introduce you to my young farmhand." Lucas turned to look where Donelly was standing, talking to Cade of all people.

"He's your farmhand?" Buckhart's measured tones betrayed more emotion than Lucas had ever heard from him.

"I'm as surprised as you are." The tall man surprised himself with the sarcasm. They joined the two young men, catching only the last few words Donelly was saying earnestly to Cade: "… help you with Miss Schuler."

"You're a right fine fellow, Donelly. Come, let's have that arm of yours looked at. Oh, Mr. McCain." The youngest Dorcas grimaced a little shamefacedly.

"Cade, Eirik, this is…"

Donelly's pale face stilled. "Sam Buckhart."

"Indeed." Lucas frowned. "You know each other?"

Donelly shook his head. "Heard of you, seen a drawing once. Honoured, Mr. Buckhart." He moved to hold out a hand, winced and bent over. There was blood dripping to the sand.

"Honoured, I'm sure, young man, but we should get you to the doctor's." Buckhart touched the young man's back. Eirik stood straight with an effort, one hand clamped around a nasty gash on his right forearm.

"Here." Lucas pulled his kerchief from his throat and quickly wrapped it around the heavily bleeding wound. The boy was very pale, and looked a little lost between the two men. Cade had left to look after his brothers.

"Do you want to ride?" Lucas pulled his horse closer, worried by the bloodless countenance of the young man.

"No. Thank you, though. I'll manage."

Slowly the trio made their way into town, accompanied by appreciative comments and humour from the bystanders.

"Seems your farmhand is well liked, Lucas." Buckhart commented dryly.

"Seems people enjoyed seeing the Dorcas taken down a notch."

Donelly coughed a wry laugh, and bent over with a sound of pain. Lucas grabbed his arm in support, but the young man was already righting himself.

"Breath, Eirik."

"I'll manage."

"You're quite proficient with that staff of yours." Distraction was the only thing that would take them to Doc Burrage's office.

"I said I can take care of myself." Something swung in the youngster's voice that made Lucas think of Mark – who came running toward them at full speed.

"Pa, what happened? Eirik, are you hurt? Hello Mr. Buckhart!"

By the time the story was told, the town centre had been reached – but Doc Burrage turned an impatient frown at them. "Sorry, Lucas, the smith's boy just came in with a hot iron through his leg. And I got two Dorcas to look after. That boy's got to wait."

"But…" Lucas was about to throw in, angry now – couldn't the burly man see Eirik was bleeding?

Buckhart put a calming hand on his arm. "If he lets me, I can take care of your friend."

Lucas took one long look at Sam, then at Eirik, who was standing upright only by sheer will. "Eirik?"

"I would like to go home. I can sew this up myself if need be."

McCain and Buckhart exchanged a glance.

"I knew he was stubborn, but not to that extent." Lucas commented wryly. The native's brow lifted expressively.

"Mark, help me with the horses." The two McCains got the cab ready, Sam Buckhart helped Donelly onto it, and they were on their way out to the farm. Spirit cantered behind them.

….

Sam ordered them into the main house. While he set Mark and Lucas to work on providing hot water, a needle and thread and clean bandages, he asked the slender youth a few pointed questions while trying to make him swallow more than a few sips of whiskey. Eirik answered quietly, so quietly that Lucas did not always catch every word. Finally, the water boiling, thread cleaned with alcohol and the needle heated over a flame, the dark-skinned man ordered calmly. "Put him on your bed, Lucas. He might faint."

"No, leave me be." The note of desperation pushed the deep voice higher. "I won't faint."

Buckhart exchanged a glance with McCain. "As you wish. Your arm, boy. Lucas, hold him down."

Eirik sucked in a breath, and Lucas could feel a shiver running over the young man as he stood behind the chair and rested his hands tightly on the slender shoulders.

"Mark, you want to leave? This is nothing for you."

"No, I want to do something. I want to help."

Eirik turned his head tiredly. Buckhart was reaching for the whiskey-bottle. "Serrated knife, and we have to assume it wasn't clean. Hold on, young man." He was going to clean the wound first.

"Distract me, Marc. Try your hand on the harmonica." The last word turned into a hiss, as Sam started padding the raw flesh with a soaked pad.

So Mark played, Buckhart worked, and Lucas felt the muscles tense and relax under his hands. The patient never made a sound, the only show of discomfort was him burying his face against Lucas' arm, clenching his fingers into a white-knuckled fist.

Afterwards, the arm bandaged, Mark wanted to know: "Eirik. Which hurt worst? The needle sure looked worst."

"Nah, Mark, the needle is your friend after that cleaning." Eirik looked exhausted. "Thanks, Mr. Buckhart. I'm glad you were around."

The native man regarded his patient with unreadable eyes for a long moment. Then he nodded, appreciation in his voice: "Your farmhand is brave, Lucas."

"Mark, help with the clean-up, and set the table. We'll have an early dinner. You're staying, Sam?"

"Aye, and thank you." Buckhart turned to the door to wash his hands. The young man made to move, too.

For a second time Lucas put his hands onto Eirik's shoulders, and felt a shiver run over the slender man. "Don't move, boy. You're staying put and eating dinner."

"So, Eirik Donelly, where do you hail from?" Buckhart's words were strangely formal, the dark eyes intense.

The boy's face twitched. "Up north."

"Your family?"

"Don't have much of a family."

"They were from up north, too?"

"Aye."

Lucas grinned evilly. "Sam, if you haven't caught on yet, the boy doesn't like to talk about his folks."

That earned him an amused glance from the dark eyes, a stern one from his son, and a burning one from the green eyes. He lifted his hands in mockery. "Peace, Eirik, I've seen you fight now."

Even Eirik managed a smile, though it was a heavy one.

"But you've got Spirit, Eirik. He's like family."

The smile warmed. "True, Mark."

The elder McCain noted how the horse's name caused Buckhart to frown, and the intensity of his gaze on Donelly only increased.

"Spirit is a native bread horse?"

Eirik tensed perceptively. "Aye."

But no more questions came. The native lawyer bent over his plate nonchalantly.

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "What was the fight about in the first place? Miss Schuler?"

Donnelly shrugged, annoyance crossing his features. "Half of that was pretence. The older Dorcas was drunk and looking for a fight. Cade tried to talk him out of it."

"You could have tried to get out of it!" McCain turned to his son in amused surprise – Mark was upset by what he had seen.

Sam Buckhart came to the farmhand's defence. "He did, Mark, he did. More than once." Reading relief on Donnelly's face, Lucas added measuredly: "Careful, Dean's one to hold a grudge."

The young man fixed McCain with hooded eyes. "I'm not scared of him. I'd smell him coming three miles against the wind."

That made Sam Buckhart grin appreciatively and Mark chuckle. Lucas could not hide his smile. The youngster had a point.

Dinner finished, it was agreed Eirik and Mark would finish the boy's schoolwork.

Lucas joined his old friend on the porch.

"Interesting character you've got there, Lucas. How long has he been here?"

"Almost half a year."

"Things going well?"

"Very well. He's not an ox, but he's right smart, and very quick with his hands. Quiet, hardworking, honest. You were mighty curious about him."

"There's a story, about a family called Donnelly. I use 'called' on purpose. Hailed from Saskatoon. Close connection to the native population. Fur traders. Two children, a boy and a girl. Whole family got killed over some dispute, only one child lived. Happened a while ago, but was quite the uproar then, with natives involved, and a wealthy businessman sent packing. The father of that family was the first Canadian native Indian who earned a degree from King's college. I told you I was sent to Harvard. These stories were kept alive by the tribes."

"What happened to the child?" The tall man had followed the dark-haired lawyer's words with interest.

"The way I heard it the girl vanished – probably was taken in by some trapper, or a native hermit. Swallowed from the face of the earth. Here things get hazy. There was tribe of Saskatchewan who sent a boy who did not look like a native to a college, but that might be a different story. A native girl of fitting age married an irish Donnelly and moved to the west coast. Either might be a completely different one with the same name, but when I saw the horse out there, and heard Mark call him Spirit, I had to ask. Few American tribes breed duns of that size."

"But you haven't gotten any closer to… a truth?"

"No, but if Eirik stays with you, I, or you, might get another chance. Here's a trail I can backtrack."

"It's that important to you, Sam? Maybe he'll trust you. It sure took him a while to tell us about how he got his horse."

With short words Lucas repeated the events of that evening with Micah Torrence. Buckhart did not react to the information.

"Wait, Buckhart, what was the businessman's name?"

"I couldn't say."

"Micah knew a different version of that story. Maybe talk to him. - But that's not why you're in Norfolk."

"No. Due north in a few days. I came to say hello. Maybe I'll drop in on my way back."

"Always welcome. You know that."

At that moment, Eirik opened the door behind them. "We're done, Mr. McCain, Mark is getting quite good. If it's all right with you, I'll…"

"Go, Donelly, rest."

"Hope to see you again, ."

"Same here, young man."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Interlude

"Eirik, will you play something on the harmonica?"

It was after dinner, the three residents were sitting around the cleared table, a game of scrabble done with. Mark was restless, having been bound to the house by a pre-spring downpour.

He reached for the little instrument. "I've been trying to remember a melody, but I can't make it out…" he whistled the first few notes, and at the slight lightening of the young man's face threw the harmonica over the table gently.

"If it's not yet time for bed…?" One slanted glance at Lucas, who shrugged and motioned for Eirik to continue, pulling his usual cigar out of the box.

Mark had grasped the principle of the mouth-organ quickly, and Eirik took pains to introduce light melodies, children's songs, a few songs from church, skirting the love-songs and heavier stuff.

Lucas went through the chores and plans for the next few days while listening to the combined efforts…. And realised he was enjoying himself thoroughly, watching his son's face light up at getting a whole verse or refrain correctly, drinking in the new melodies with glowing eyes. The young man's face took on a dreamy expression, losing almost all the careful restraint and wariness usually predominant. He was right smart with diverting his son's impatient frustration, making him laugh over a mistake.

"Did you mean it when you said you could sew your arm yourself if you had to?" Mark's light voice pulled him sharply out of his reverie.

Eirik's arm had healed well, two days after the incident you'd never have known that he had been incapacitated at all. The young man did not shy from work, even if it maybe would have been smart or safer to do so.

Eirik shrugged expressively. "I've apprenticed with a doctor for a few months." There was something evasive about his answer, but Mark was satisfied for the moment.

"And how do you know to write music?"

That was quite the educated farmhand he had gotten himself… Lucas felt his eyes narrow.

"I learned to play the piano when I was half your age, and took it up again a few years ago."

"But the piano is different than a harmonica!"  
"Yes, but once you know to read sheet music for the piano, you can read and write music for most any other instrument."

"Really? Cool."

Lucas frowned. It would not do to fill the boy's head with dreams, but on the other hand, he wanted a better life for his son, for him to have dreams… and he did have an ear…

"Do you have siblings?"

"No."

Mark paused, biting his lip. Even the boy noticed that Eirik did not like to talk about his family.

"How did you get the honey?"

"You know how to smoke out bees?"

"Aye." The boy sounded disappointed. "I thought maybe you can talk to them."

Eirik winked at him. "I said I was going to rob them."

Mark chuckled. "And the tablet – Pa said you made it yourself. So you stole a whole comb from them?"

"Aye. Just enough for tablet, and a little more for the honey."  
"Can you bring more?"

"I could, but then I might destroy the hive."

"So?"

"So that would be the end of the honey and the wax and the bees."  
"Ah. You mean you know where the hive is now and can return?"

"Exactly."

Mark nodded in silent contemplation.

"Didn't you get stung? Even smoking them out – I heard Mr. Valance got stung last time he tried that."

"None too badly, anyways."

And on it went, from the honey to the fur and back to more personal questions about the young man himself. Lukas was getting drowsy with the constant, melodic back and forth. But the farmhand was growing monosyllabic. Finally he leaned back, face drawn.

"Mark, too many questions. I'm really tired. I think I'll go to bed now."

Lukas was almost reluctant to let the young man go – it was seldom that he spoke about his past or his family. Not that he had disclosed anything yet.

"Good night."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Eirik, wake up! We're going hunting!" Mark was an insistent nuisance when he was excited. Lucas grinned widely, watching the young man grumble something unintelligible, stumble outside to wash face and neck in the cold water, and finally look around with bleary eyes.

"What's with you, Eirik? Usually you're up way before us."

"Must be the moon shining in my face most of the night. Sir."

The tall man laughed quietly. "Everything ready?"

"Aye." Eirik grabbed a bundle that showed his bow and a full quiver. A water bottle hung around his neck.

"But you still got to saddle Spirit!" Mark piped up from where he stood by the door. The dun stallion twitched his ears at the sound of his name.

"No."

"Not even a blanket?"

"Just to spite you for waking me so early I'm not even taking a blanket."

"Boys, stop fighting, let's go." Sometimes these two seemed more like brothers than the at least ten years age difference.

They rode out in companionable silence. Lucas grinned into his collar watching the two young men with him – Mark shivering in the early morning cold, Eirik visibly enjoying the moist air, loose-limbed and soft-moving on the big horse.

"Spirit wants to run free, doesn't he?" The big horse was pushing eagerly.

"Not only him. Sir, why not split up now, and I'll meet up with you and Mark at midday at that place on the stream, for lunch."

They had planned the hunt like this – splitting up, hoping for twice as much result.

"Fine by me, Eirik. But be careful, the rocks are treacherous."

A slight frown creased skin almost translucent in the dim light. "You be careful, too. Good hunting!" The young man nodded, and leaned forward.

His intention must have translated itself instantly to the horse – Spirit picked up the pace, and within a few breaths, the pair was galloping over the hillside.

"I like him, Pa, I wish he would stay forever."

"Mark, don't set your hopes too high."

"I know. But he's a fair worker, right?"

"Yes, Mark."

"And he's really smart."

"Yes."

"And he can charm bees!"

"We haven't actually seen him do it. Maybe he smoked them out."

"He makes the best corn bread."

"You've told everyone."

"He could open a carver shop and stay in town."

"Sure he could, though I am not certain if he could earn a living that way. Norfolk is not very big." Though that commission of Miss Hattie's had given the boy quite a reputation.

"Don't you like him, Pa?"

"I do, Mark. I think he's a fine man."

"Then why wouldn't you want him to stay?"

"Mark, it's not a question of what I want. It's a question of what Eirik wants. He could earn more money with other work."

The boy considered that. "Still, he'll stay our friend, right?"

"I sure hope so, Mark." Lucas was surprised he felt that inner heaviness at the thought of the young man leaving. Part of it was that he had grown accustomed to his quiet, foresightful presence on the farm. But looking at his son he knew he was not alone in his enjoyment of the sometimes musical, often humorous evenings that came out of their growing friendship.

"Or he could help Miss Schuler as teacher."

"He could."

The monosyllables finally quieted Mark, who brooded to himself for the longest time. Only after the sun came up his mood brightened. Soon Lucas picked up the fresh trail of a buck. They left the horses at the river, hobbling them so they would not get too far, and made their way up the steep side of the mountains.

As usual the elder McCain pointed out all things noteworthy to his son. Twice they met with the large snakes native to this environment. He did not realise he had missed something until it was too late.

The sun was almost at its highest point when the two finally sighted on their prey. It was a beautiful young animal, strength in every line of its posture.

Lucas motioned for Mark to stay where he was, in case the buck tried to run his way he could cut it off and shoo it back toward his father's rifle. Lucas climbed on, rifle at the ready, when his instincts warned him: The buck was nervous. Their approach had been from downwind, so someone or something else must have the animal skittish. A small cry made ice run down Lucas' back.

"Pa!"

Turning, he noticed the large feline stalking his son – and the male version only five meters away staring at him.

For a moment the rifleman stood frozen. How could he have missed them? It was mating season, the mountain lions would range in pairs. Both cats could attack immediately. Lucas quickly felled the decision – he could only shoot one, and it would have to be the one threatening Mark.

The shot rang out. Mark's scream froze in the air. Lucas saw the cat jump and made a step backwards, reaching for his knife. The rifle fell from his hand as his foot slipped. He could feel the lion's claws break his skin at his shoulders and thighs, but more imminent was the feeling of free fall. A twinge irritated him for an instant, a shadow that attached itself to the feline, then he hit the ground and knew no more.

….

"Come on, Lucas, stay with me."

Cool hands, slender fingers … so gentle… running over arms and legs strangely foreign.

Margaret?

"Mark is waiting up there. Please, stay with us."

The voice… dimly familiar… Mark… gentle, cool hands on his brow… darkness.

….

A weird feeling of free fall, again, a memory of the furious lion above him.

Trying to say something, but only a groan came out.

"Lucas? We're almost there." A deep voice, very deep, very strained. "Mark? Talk to him!"

From far, far away came a voice that stirred his heart. "Pa! Pa, I'm here. You'll be ok, I promise! We'll get you to the doc!"

The words made no sense. He was floating, dangling, being pushed left and right, something warm and movement under him. A horse? The smell was wrong. Warm, spicy, sweat, dimly familiar. Hot air against his cheek.

"Lucas? Can you hear me?"

A talking horse? It was moving wrong. It was uncomfortable. His leg bumped against something, sending a spike of heat up his spine. A sound came out of his mouth.

"Almost, Lucas, hold on a bit longer."

Thirst. When the horse slipped, jolting him, his head screamed and he fell into darkness again.

….

"Pa? Can you hear me?"

"Mark?" lightning crashed behind his eyes. "Mark!" The lion! There was a lion jumping!

Cool hands, water dripping into his mouth. Blessed moisture.

"More." He croaked.

Slender, so gentle fingers lifted his head ever so carefully, as if aware of the lightning. A bottle was tipped to his lips. "Slowly, slowly." The deep voice.

He drank, sank back exhausted.

"Pa? Can you open your eyes?"

He tried. Anything for that voice. "Mark?"

"I'm here, Pa." Small fingers gripped his hand reassuringly.

"Mark. The lion…" his heart threatened to pick up speed again, calling the lightning.

"You killed the lion, Pa. I'm fine."

Mark safe. He could go then.

"No, Lucas, stay with us a little longer, please." The deep voice, the cool fingers on his brow… gentle hands.

"Margaret?"

A poignant sound. "Pa!"

"Don't follow her, Lucas, stay with us. Mark needs you. Please, stay."

He tried to move, to follow... But the voice kept him still. "Your son, Lucas, your friends. We're going to get help, but you have to stay with us, please."

The lightning came again, and he could not suppress a groan. A sob from somewhere beside him.

"It hurts, I know. You took a bad fall. But you'll get well again." The deep voice shook.

Who was crying? "Mark?"

"Pa, Pa, please. Don't go to Mum! Don't leave me alone!"

"Shh, Mark, don't distress him. He's trying."

"Mark. Son."

"Yes, Lucas, he's here. He needs you. Here, drink some more."

Blessed coolness dripped down his throat. He swallowed thirstily. The gentle hands put something soft and cool and wet over his eyes. Lucas relaxed.

"Pa?"

"'m here, son, 'm here." He tried to tighten his grip on the smaller hand, and the small hand tightened back. Mark.

….

Being shaken, but gently. Still, every push and pull sent thunder through his head. Though not as bad as before. Before?

There was a rhythm to the shaking, a sound to the rhythm. Horses. He was being carried between two horses. Why?

He tried to open his eyes. Something soft and wet and cool hindered him. He tried to move his hand.

"Pa! He's moving! Pa, be calm, we're taking you home. Micah, he moved!"

Home? Many voices seemed to reach out to him at once.

"Lucas boy, good to have you with us. Stay still, son, only a bit longer."

"Only a bit longer. We're almost there."

"Oh Pa, everything's going to be ok, you'll see!" his son was almost singing.

"Hold on, Lucas. We're almost there."

The familiar sound of hooves on the yard, he never knew how telling the echo of barn and house were.

Strong arms carried him inside, Doc Burrage's unmistakable tone sent everyone except Micah outside again. He could hear them muttering on the porch, could feel their tension through the wall.

"Micah…"

A hard, well-used hand gripped his tightly. "I'm here, Lucas. We're all here. Mark is fine."

There was somebody missing… one voice…

"Eirik?" the lions, the meet, the hunt...

"Calm, Lucas, calm. That boy is fine, too. Bringing home the bounty. 't was a good hunt." The older man joked.

Lucas managed a grimace.

Then the Doc stepped up to the bed and began probing his whole body with practised moves.

He struggled to stay awake long enough to hear the older man's verdict.

"All right. Concussion, Lucas, I never thought I'd see the day with that thick head of yours. Those scratches are nothing, but your leg is broken. Lucky there, it should heal clean. The shoulder was dislocated, but seems Eirik knows what he's doing and set it right where he found you. I'll have to talk to that young man."

Someone opened the door, and short steps stumbled in. "Doc?" Mark's voice was hesitant.

"He'll live, boy."

"Micah?" His son trusted the old sheriff more than the town doctor.

"He's got a broken leg and a concussion, Mark. He'll be fine."

"Oh." A sob threatened to escape.

Lucas lifted a hand, and the small warm body of his boy threw himself against him with force.

"Easy, son… fine." He held the shaking shoulders.

…

Thunderous hooves woke the yard, muted quickly. Murmurs could be heard through the door, even a soft cry of surprise.

Lucas tried to ask a question, but the sound came out mangled.

"I'll have a look, Lucas." Micah closed the door behind him.

Quiet talk, horses, footsteps, something being pulled or pushed over the sandy earth.

Mark padded to the window and moved the curtains: "Eirik came back – seems he brought the buck. And the lion!"

Lucas shuddered in memory. "Eirik?"

Micah re-entered, the door clanged. "That farmhand of yours proved mighty resourceful, Lucas boy. At least you'll have food for a while."

"He brought the buck, I saw!"

"Yes Mark, he brought two bucks – one he killed, and the one you two must have been chasing. And the two lion skins."

"But how?"

"We left your father's horse with him, remember? With the two stallions each pulling a buck, it's manageable. Must have skinned the lions on the spot."

Awe swung in the boy's voice. "He does that. The meat is no good. He left that for the vultures."

Lucas gave up trying to follow the conversation and surrendered to sleep.

…..

He woke blearily to more hoof-beats outside.

"Now what?" the old sheriff's stride was tired.

"Doc Burrage, Sheriff Torrence!" a very young voice called out.

"Aye…" a second presence moved in the McCain living room.

"You've got to come to town real quick. There's been a gunfight."

"Oh bloody…, what now?"

"Dean Dorcas and a stranger – they're both wounded."

Burrage's voice rang out. "Donnelly!"

"Aye, Sir." The deep, calm voice ran through Lucas like cool water. He remembered that voice. It had leaded him back to reality.

A quick back and forth resulted, muted and tired on one side, alert and intent on the other.

"I've got this, Doc. Mark and I got this. If you could look in tomorrow evening, we'd be mighty grateful, but for tonight and a day, I think we're set."

Both Micah and the Doctor came to say good-bye to him. He tried to thank them, to form words, but they would not let him, silencing him with demands of quick recovery.

Hoof-beats leaving, then silence. It was amazing the information his other senses conveyed if he concentrated on them, eyes still threatening him with lightning whenever he tried to open them.

"Mark, you must be hungry." Eirik enquired of the boy. The door closed, and Lucas could feel their presence in the room.

"I don't rightly know, Eirik. My stomach's all twisted up."

"Here, I'll warm some milk for you."

Lucas drifted off again to the warm, comfortable back and forth between the two.


	7. Chapter 7

Cool, gentle hands shaking him softly. "Mr. McCain! Wake up, just for a minute. Take some broth."

He sipped the aromatic brew, then drank thirstily, listening intently to the sounds around him: Eirik's relieved breath, the fire crackling lazily, sounds of the night outside.

"Mark?"

"Try opening your eyes and see for yourself." The gentle hands lifted the moist bandage.

Carefully widening his eyes to slits, Lucas noted with relief that he could stand the dim light. His glance showed him his boy curled up in the comfortable chair, a blanket and a fur spread over him. Fast asleep.

"Does your leg bother you?"

"Hurts. Not bad."

"Good. Get back to sleep. I'll wake you again in two hours."

Concussion, right. Leg broken. That was bad out here. The chores would suffer, he might even miss the first spring seed, unable to move about. Lucas ground his teeth. How could he have been so careless?

As if able to read his mind, the young man put a calming hand on his shoulder. "Sleep, Mr. McCain. Everything will be fine, I promise."  
….

In the morning Lucas remembered dimly being woken twice more during the night. Each time Donnelly urged him to drink, open his eyes, and get back to sleep. Each time he did.

…

The day passed by him in a haze – always either Mark or Donnelly in the room with him, checking his bandages, feeding him broth, helping him to relieve himself. He was sick several times, but Eirik was there to support him.

It seemed to Lucas he was always struggling to either fall asleep or stay awake. His leg hurt, his shoulder hurt, his head hurt with every move.

In what must be late afternoon Micah and the Doc came and took inventory.

"Tomorrow's gonna be better, Lucas. You're going to heal."

"Doc, I've got some willow bark in my things."

"Good thinking, boy. That should help him through the night. He might develop a light fever in the evening, if it doesn't go up or he starts hallucinating, he should be fine. Leg looks well, the shoulder too."

"My shoulder?" It was true, the left shoulder hurt.

"It was dislocated." Eirik cleared his throat quickly.

Lucas froze. His arm might be compromised?

"No, Lucas, settle down. Eirik set it right away, and I can say even now, when the swelling goes down, it'll be like new. You might get a weather-feeling, but more so in your leg."

The tall man breathed a sigh of relief.

"Now, Eirik, Mark. How can we help? Cade offered to come and help tomorrow for the morning."

"Aye, he might. If Mark can be excused from School one more morning, we can start on the lower field for the spring seeding – need to start pronging."

"You need more men?"

"I asked Mr. Valance already, we get the use of his oxen. We can do it fine."

"Valance lends you his team? How did you manage that?"

"He likes Mr McCain, though he'd never admit it. A day's help when I can be spared here." A twinge of grateful irony swung in the young man's voice.

"That all?"

"He's mighty proud of that pair of oxen. I made him a carving of one, promised him a second one."

"That's a fair bargain." Micah's voice held little scorn.

Lucas could hear the youngster's shrug in his answer. "Worth it. Weather will break."

Micah grunted. Lucas was relieved the most important thing was taken care of – the ground had to be dug and seeded before the next rain came.

"Right. Doc, I can feed Mr McCain light stuff tomorrow? Potatoes? Some stew?"

"Aye. You might be in for a rough night though, even with the willow bark."

"We'll manage." That was Mark, pride and manliness covering the slight quiver in his voice.

….

He must have drifted off, for when he woke again, the room was quiet but for the sounds of the night.

His leg hurt, his eyes were better. That was the first thing he became aware of. He tried to move, but pain shot through the injured limb, making him gasp.  
At once, a slender figure stood by his side.

"Mr. McCain."

"Help me move, Eirik?"

"Sit up a bit?"

"Aye."

The young man brought a rolled up blanket and helped him get into a more comfortable position. But now the leg insisted on him taking notice.

Lucas grimaced.

"Wait, sir, I've got some tea for you."

Almost the rifleman spat the bitter stuff out again.

"Trying to poison me, Donnelly? That stuff's horrible!"

Eirik had the audacity to grin at him, eyes dancing. "Willow bark is bitter but it helps with the pain."

The young man's good humour made him grimace through another sip.

"Some food for me, boy?"

"Yes, Sir. How does some stew sound?"

Eirik helped Lucas feed himself, because the hurt arm hindered him. Few words were spoken. The patient was appreciative of the food, even if it still was only the soft stuff.

Even eating tired the tall man considerably, and he sank back after a few bites.

"Thanks. Where's Mark?"

"Asleep. In his bed this time. I promised him I'd wake him if anything changed."

Meaning his condition, Lucas knew. He felt hot, edgy.

"I'm fine."

The young man brought a moist towel to put on his forehead, and at once Lucas breathed a sigh of relief.

He dozed off again.

…

The rest of his night was filled with weird, colourful dreams of faces, feline and human, shady and clear. Of cool, gentle hands, a memory of his wife. A deep voice filled with some emotion he could not place. Mark, desperate, reaching out to him. Micah, nodding and smiling. A heart-shaped face, translucent, well-known but unplaceable, green eyes burning, windswept hair the same colour as a glass of honey. Doc Burrage with his bone saw.

Lucas woke with a low sound then. Heart pounding, he opened his eyes to the dim, warm light of the lamp on the table. Beside that lay the unmistakable covered head of his farmhand, arms forming a pillow.

Lucas frowned – the boy wasn't getting much sleep that way.

"Eirik."

The pale face lifted, eyes instantly alert. "Lucas? I mean Mr McCain? Anything…"

"Go sleep in your bed."

"I'm fine, Sir. I promised Mark I'd stay and look after you."

Damn it, proud young men. "Then at least take the comfortable chair."

Eirik smiled a little. "All right, sir. How's the head?"

"Head's better. Eyes are much better."

"Glad to hear it. Thirsty?"

"Yes, always."

With a smile of half mischief, half sympathy the young man stood and offered him the choice of broth or tea. With a grimace Lucas nodded at the tea – the leg burned.

Eirik grimaced right back. "That bad?"

"Like someone is hitting it with a hammer with every beat of my heart. I'll never go back to sleep."

Eirik removed a thick wad of paper from the fauteuil. "Newspaper?"

His face must have betrayed the instant interest, but also the realisation that his eyes would never comply.

"I could read it to you."

Lucas hesitated, but the young man's glance was earnest and direct.

"Appreciate it."

He fell asleep again listening to the deep voice.

…

The next morning he woke to Mark working at the table – the boy had brought some of the easier chores into the house.

His son fed him enthusiastically, enjoying having his father to himself.

Lucas felt restless. Leg and head hurt badly enough he could not rightly move at all, but his whole body rebelled against the enforced idleness.

Mark's chipper confabulations about the smoking buck legs, the livestock, and all the small things his son found interesting… they chafed. He needed to be out there, working, making sure the spring seeding was coming along. Out here, an accident like this might well mean the ruin for the farm.

Mark, worried by his Pa's short answers, reached out to reassure himself that his father's forehead was cool.

Lucas shrugged his touch away. He was fed up with the pampering and commanded almost angrily: "Why aren't you out on the field helping the men?"

"We said we'd take turns looking after you. I'll ride out when Eirik comes in. That way the team always has two men working on it, and someone is always with you."

"No, Mark. You hand me my rifle, and put that tea on the table where I can reach it. Go."

"But Pa…"

"Go, Mark. I'm fine. Do something more useful with your time. That field needs seeding before the rain comes."

Only when the boy had run out Lucas realised he was scowling ferociously.

BlueBoy thundered out of the yard.

Lucas made sure he could handle the rifle well enough to defend himself – the hurt shoulder was slightly sore, but the movement of the arm was unhindered.

When he tried to move the leg though, he was reminded that a broken leg doesn't heal in two days. The pain was enough to drive the air from his lungs.

For a while he was content to sit and wait and ponder what had brought him into this situation in the first place. His memory of the fall and how he had gotten back to the house, the extent of his injuries, everything was hazy – more than hazy. Well, he'd figure that out. He should have asked Mark a few questions before sending him away.

He could have been a bit nicer – it must have been a bad few days for his boy.

Angry at himself now, the tall man resolved to grab the newspaper from the table. It would hurt, but he was a hard man, he could handle a little pain.

He sat up slowly, breathing carefully. His head spun, but not too badly. Satisfied that far, he turned to the side, resolved to rest all his bodyweight on the sound leg only. The distance to the table was negligible.

He stood, leaning against the bedpost with both hands, and the room started to spin around him. Thunder hammered in his ears, and his knee gave way. Pain shot through his leg and exploded in his head. Darkness claimed him.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 – Conflict

Dimly Lucas grew aware of a whinny, steps on the porch, the door clanging open.

A strangled sound. "Lucas! Dear Lord."

The gentle hands touched his back, his shoulder, nudged him ever so carefully. "Lucas!"

He groaned, lifting a hand to his head. He opened his eyes a little.

"Are you hurt?" The deep voice was choked. Gently, but insistently the hands turned him on his back, looking for wounds.

Eirik was bent over him, his face a pale, badly drawn mask of horror.

"'m fine. I tried to get up."

The hands stilled. Green eyes burned into his, their expression raw with emotion.

Disbelieve spread over the young man's face, something gave around the expressive mouth.

"What did you say?"

"Help me up." Lucas croaked. Eirik managed to get him upright and had him resettled on the bed within a few torturous moments. For a minute Lucas lay there and breathed, aware of the other man staring down on him. When he lifted his arm from his face, Eirik turned away forcefully. He was shaking.

"Donelly…" he had given the boy a fright.

"First you shout at Mark, then you half kill yourself? I know this is far overstepping my place but, Sir, you're behaving mighty irresponsibly." The boy's voice was hoarse; he spat the words out angrily. "Sitting around doing nothing is torture for many a man. To see you lying there covered in your own blood was worse, trust me. And Mark would have blamed himself had _he_ found you just now." The boy bent down, picked up the rifle from the floor and stormed out, slamming the door energetically behind him.

Lucas stared after him bemusedly, and profoundly humiliated. Mark had probably told Eirik how stubborn his Pa was being, the young man had ridden home. And found him lying on the floor, the rifle at his feet. Donelly had assumed Lucas had gotten shot by whoever he had tried to confront.

He could hear the pump being worked forcefully, the water splashing loudly. After a long while, the light steps returned, the door opened, and the young man entered the room.

His eyes were red-rimmed, his lips a thin line. He tried to meet Lucas' calm eyes with a stony gaze. But a poker-face had to be learned, and the boy didn't have it. Their stare held for a long moment, then Eirik said coolly: "I won't apologize, Mr. McCain."

"You shouldn't. I have to. I'm sorry."

Some of the tension seeped out of the farmhand's shoulders. The words burst out of him in truly childlike manner: "You haven't even eaten solid food yet! If half the stories are true, you took care of enough sick or hurt people to fill this town! I've got a crutch half-finished in the barn, and a stool for to put your leg on when you're sitting up! Just give us this one day until we know the crisis is past! You heard the Doctor! We've only got today to finish the lower field, rain's gonna come tonight! You can smell it in the air."

Lucas lifted his hands in surrender, unable to completely hide the smile. It warmed him that the boy held him in such high regard.

Trying to control his breathing, Eirik remembered the rifle in his hands. Blood rose into his cheeks. Slowly he took another step into the room and tried to alleviate his words. "You gave us a nasty fright with that fall you took, and it was a mighty close call for a while there, until you decided to stay with your boy. Even yesterday..." he swallowed. "So forgive-"

"Eirik. You were right with every word. I'll be more patient." He'd never heard the boy put so many words together.

Seemed his farmhand had unsettled himself with this outburst. He broke eye contact, glanced around the room. Then, with a decisive move, he leaned the rifle against the bed, pushed the heavy table closer to Lucas and set lamp, newspaper, tea, cold broth and a piece of bread close enough so the other man could reach them with one hand.

"I'll offer this compromise: You don't move from the bed until we're done with the field, and I'll concede the watcher. But either Mark or me will come look in on you every hour. Deal?" His voice still shook, but his eyes burned with determination.

Lucas thought he knew what Mark felt like threatened with the removal of his favourite sweet. "Deal."

The youngster frowned in disbelieve. That seemed too easy a win.

"Deal, Donelly."

A glint entered the green eyes, his lips curled. "I'm not entirely sure you are to be trusted, Sir."

"Drop the Sir, already, Eirik. You called me by my given name before." Fatigue crept up on the tall man.

Contradictory creature, that farmhand - now he paled, his shoulders tensed like a mountain lion about to recede – or pounce. Eyes wide, he swallowed. "I'll get back to the field."

"Wait…"

Eirik turned, alertly.

"Tell me what happened."

A haunted expression flitted over his face and settled in his eyes. But he tilted his head impishly and smiled slightly. "If you honour the deal."

Satisfied by Lucas' appreciative, if slightly annoyed grin, the young man tipped his hat to the older man and left.

….

"Pa? You awake?"

"Aye, Mark. Done with the field?"

"Yes, we finished. Just in time. It's starting to rain." His boy's blue eyes held wariness.

"Listen, son. I'm honest sorry I snapped at you this morning. I was frustrated and in pain. Had nothing to do with you."

"I know, Pa. Eirik said as much. Did you shout at him, too?"

"Why?"

"He was very… what's the word?...monosy – monola – no, got it. Monosyllabic. He looked… really tired. And sad."

"I haven't been a very good patient, Mark. But I'll make up for it, I promise."

Lucas cradled his son's cheek in his hand for a moment.

"You done with your chores? The horses?"

"I even got dinner prepared – just a bit longer. You slept really deeply the last two times I looked in on you and still when we came back. Feel better?"

"Much." He smiled.

Lucas had not been aware how much tension still rested on his boy's narrow shoulders. But hearing that word and seeing his father's obviously much improved countenance, Mark had to swallow twice before he could summon a smile back.

"I'm glad, Pa. You had us mighty worried."

"Us?" Lucas kept the tone light.

"Eirik, Micah, the Doc. Eli, Miss Hattie, even Cade. Mr. Valance sent a loaf of fresh bread so we won't have to bake for another week. Everybody's been really helpful."

Lucas was touched despite knowing how tight knit the community was. He wouldn't act differently for any of the others.

When he held out his arm, Mark climbed up to the bed to lie down next to his father, nestling his head against his shoulder. He started telling him about the magnificent pair of oxen and how calm and strong they were, and how Eirik had treated them like real honourable animals, about the work they had done on the field, the way Cade and Eirik talked about Miss Schuler, the way they made the boy laugh whenever his thoughts pulled him down.

"Mark."

"Yes, Pa?"

"Tell me what happened?"

The boy tensed against him. "The accident?"

"Aye. I remember most of nothing."

Mark pondered on the question for a moment, breath coming faster. Then he sat up with determination, crossing his legs in front of him and started talking earnestly.

"I was climbing, the way you had pointed. Only I heard this sound behind me, almost like a Rattler, and turned around. There was this big cat, so close I got so scared and surprised. I called out to you." He swallowed, threw a quick glance at his Pa and went on.

"Then the shot rang out, and the lion dropped, almost on the spot." Pride swung in his voice, Lucas had to smother a grin. It still felt good to have the boy be proud of his father.

"I looked to where you were standing, but…" Mark wiped a hand over his face, his voice giving out. His hand reached out to where the bandages were covering Lucas' shoulder. "I saw the lion clawing into you, and you'd lost your footing. You both went over the edge. I couldn't follow … couldn't see." The boy took a breath.

"Anyway. I must have screamed, I don't know. Everything happened so fast then I can't hardly put it in order. Eirik appeared out of nowhere – from somewhat below us and from the other side – like closer to you than to me. He must have climbed up the other side of that outcropping."

Lucas nodded his understanding. "Eirik had followed the same buck?"

"No, he already had hunted his own, he was meeting up with us, he explained to me. He saw the lion pounce on you from below, and fired an arrow. He killed the lion before you … hit the rocks." Mark shuddered. "At least he could not bite you any worse."

Lucas frowned, an image before his eyes. A twinge, a shadow… the lion's head.

"I climbed to the edge where you had fallen and looked down. Eirik was already there, kneeling over you. He called to me to throw down the rope and some sticks. He wrapped your head in something he ripped from his undershirt, and tried to set your leg, I think. And something was wrong with your arm, but I could not see everything. Then he put you onto his shoulders and climbed up."

The rifleman felt cold run down his back. That slim youngster had carried him – who'd been called a giant by more sympathetic fellows – up the steep, rocky mountainside? … the weird horse… the warm, spicy smell… hot air against his cheek… "You called something down to me." His voice was barely a croak.

"Yes, Pa, I think you were conscious for a moment, Eirik called to me."

"And then? How did you get me…" good Lord, they had left the horses on the bottom of the valley by the river…

Mark seemed intent on getting the story over with. "He called for Spirit. That stallion can climb. We put you on Spirit's back, me too, I held on to you. And once down by the river I raced into town and got Micah and the Doc."

"Not even Spirit could climb all the way to the top."

"For the first bit Eirik carried you." Mark shrugged, chewing his lip, eyes far away.

Neither had noticed the slender figure by the door.

"Must have been quite a sight, you thrown over my shoulder, knuckles and toes trailing on the floor. I owe you for those shoes."

The deep voice was so wry, the picture painted so compelling that Mark collapsed into helpless giggles. The tension was broken for the boy.

Lucas felt the contagion of his son's laughter spreading, but the horror of the story held him in thrall, still. He stared at the almost lanky young man in the door as if seeing him for the first time again. The wide forehead, the slightly aquiline, narrow nose over the so expressive lips often pressed together, or pursed in uncertainty or thought, like now. The startling green eyes he'd heard many of the young and older women in town whisper enviously about, framed by thick dark lashes. Now they were heavily shadowed, and taking in the room with a mixture of business-like alertness, warmth and something Lucas could not identify. – Yes, that was the last feature missing. The hair. He seemed to remember dark strands appearing now and then during work, but always the scarf covered length and texture. The hat further helped to conceal the issue. His clothes hung loosely, as always – more loosely? and seemed to have suffered the most from the additional work.

Lucas blinked.

It had been a close call, indeed, much closer than he had realised. No wonder Eirik had exploded at him in the morning. He suppressed a shiver, imagining the horror of finding Mark – or Micah – or Eirik, he realized - bloodied and life-less in hostile surroundings.

Eirik was unaware of his employer's thoughts. "Sir, don't let me spoil the moment. I came to tell you I'm riding into town with Cade, give Doc and sheriff an update and bring home some bag balm and nails. We're all out and Bessie's still giving milk."

Lucas shook his head, trying to get rid of the spell. "Good, Eirik, thank you."

"Anything else you'd like?"

"Mark tells me we have fresh bread. Nothing I can think of."

"Aye." The young man's demeanour was strangely formal. He tipped his hat to them and left.

"Knuckles and toes trailing…" Mark dissolved into laughter again, holding his sides. Recognizing the danger of that laughter turning into tears as much as to reassure himself, Lucas wrapped both arms around the boy and held him tight.

A thought came to him then, an impression, as he listened to Mark hiccupping, his warm cheek on his chest, hand running up and down the boy's back. When Donelly had helped him upright, this morning, Lucas' hand had rested on the youngster's back… had there been bandages under that shirt? What a curious thought.

"Was Donelly hurt? Did you see blood on his shirt at any time?"

"Eirik? No, Pa, I thought whatever blood there was, was yours. He could not have managed what he did… I mean… hurt? He never said."

Lucas nodded and dropped the subject.

…..

The young man returned with Micah in tow. The sheriff stormed in, dripping wet, leaving his horse to the farmhand.

Lucas grinned at his old friend. "Micah! That's a nice surprise! Now I'm glad Mark and I waited with dinner."

The stew was boiling gently in its large bucket over the fire, the smell spreading through the room.

"Seems like you're doing better, Lucas Boy. Can I say I'm mighty glad to see that."

"Thanks Micah, for everything. The leg bothers me, but otherwise I'm much better. Mark, one more plate for the table? Go ask Eirik to join us, will you?"

"Yes, Pa."

"The two boys took good care of you? There's big change from when I saw you last." A few lines seemed to have vanished from the older man's face. "You gave us a fright, all right."  
"I know." Lucas felt a little uncomfortable discussing his condition and the accident.

"You owe your life to Donelly, Lucas. He managed an inhuman feat, carrying you down those boulders and getting you through the first night and day. I still can't fathom how he did that." Micah grinned, but turned serious again. "Keeping Mark in good spirits, too. Cade said they finished the lower field today, and the farm looks as usual. Smoking shed's been running continuously."

"They've been working hard." The rifleman conceded freely. But before he could continue, steps on the porch announced the two younger men were arriving for their dinner.

Mark was carrying a wooden stool in one hand and a pillow fashioned out of the lion-skin in the other. "Look, Pa!"

"What's this?" Micah enquired in a friendly manner.

"A deal I had with Mr. McCain. Want to try the fireside chair, sir?" the young man pulled the heavy chair around, and Mark set the stool down.

"If you lend me a hand, young man?"

Between them, Micah and Eirik helped Lucas get upright and to the chair, where he sat with spinning head for a long moment. Three pairs of half expectant, half worried eyes were fastened on him when he looked up again. Waving them away with slight irritation, the tall man stretched out his legs carefully. Mark knelt and helped him put the injured foot on the stool, and Lucas sighed with appreciation.

"Feeling a bit more like yourself, Lucas boy?"

"Can I get you anything, Pa?"

"Stop fawning over me like a bunch of girls!" It came out sharper than intended.

With drawn face Mark stepped back, into the lean figure of Donelly. Lucas frowned at his outbreak, but the tension was dissolved from another side.

"See, Mark, he's getting angry already. Good sign, remember. First step were sensible words, then short sentences, then exclamations and complaints. Now we can be certain there is no brain damage. Nothing worse than before at least. Let's prepare dinner."

This time it was Lucas who helplessly grinned. Micah joined in, and Mark, after having gotten over the initial shock at the young man's daring words, chuckled to himself. Even Eirik's drawn face showed wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He studiously avoided the rifleman's gaze.

They sat down to eat, munching the fresh bread with the warm food. Mark asked Micah after happenings in town, and soon they had a perfectly normal dinner talk going.

Lucas was peripherally aware of the wary but intently observant green eyes of his farmhand watching him. He met the youngster's glance on purpose, surprising him. The expression on the pale face startled him: Steady, alert worry - The young man had barely slept more than a couple of hours the last night, and probably none the night before. Even so, Donelly was taking keen notice of each of Lucas' movement and the amount he ate. Eirik had not told Mark about what had happened this morning, sparing Lucas the humiliation, and Mark the fright and worry.

"So, what'd the Doc say, Donelly?" Micah had noted his friend's expression.

Eirik took a breath, eyes on his plate. "That Mr McCain should take it easy, that his head would tell him when he's about to overdo it. _Rest, rest, rest_ were his words. Must not put weight on your leg at all for the next two weeks, then carefully increasing movement and strain for the next five to six weeks." He looked up, fixing the tall man with one of his direct gazes. "He gave me permission to hogtie you to the chair for the next two days. He'll take us both to account when he comes to see you next."

Mark laughed, Micah laughed, Lucas pulled a face, scratching his head.

"Looking at you, young man, I'm fairly certain he had something to say about you getting some rest yourself."

Wiping a hand over tired eyes, the addressed shrugged impishly. "Maybe, sheriff."

"I could stay the night…" the older man offered. "I know this chair fairly well."

"No, it's fine. Tomorrow's gonna be an easy day, with the rain and mostly regular work. We'll manage."

"Really, I'm sitting right here." Lucas frowned, but with a twinkle in his eyes. He was growing tired already.

Mark stood, cleaning the dishes away, and leaned his head against his father's shoulder for a moment.

"You let us take care of you, Pa, the way you do it for other people."


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Thank you so much for the feedbacks, the encouragement and the nice comments, all! I've got quite a few chapters "almost finished", but beeing a crazy stupid perfectionist, it takes quite some bravery to post them. So... reviews help and are much much much appreciated!

"Mr. McCain, would you show me how to set an edge to the scythe?"

"Why, Eirik, the field is hardly set and you want to go cut hay already?"

"No…" The young man blushed, pushing his hands into the pockets of his pants.

It was afternoon, Lucas had been sitting on the porch, his leg propped up, rubbing oil into the bridles and leather ribbons coiled in an orderly heap at his side.

"It's something I never learned."

The rifleman tilted his head. Mockery would have been too easy. "Sure. Get me the stone, a bucket of water and the sickle. We'll start small."

Eirik brought the oldest, rusted sickle that must have been hiding somewhere in the back of the barn. The younger man settled on the floor across from the rifleman.

"So you didn't grow up on a farm, then? Never helped with haying?"

"No, only ever with the gathering of the hay, never the cutting… just happened that way."

McCain demonstrated the fluid movements of whetstone against dull blade with thoughtless elegance.

"Will you tell me where you learned to set a dislocated shoulder?"

The dark eyes intent on every move, Donnelly answered absentmindedly. "I travelled with a field medic for a few months. He'd been in the army, and escorted a wagon train to the east coast."

Lucas held out stone and instrument for the young man to try. "A wagon train, eh? Bet you learned a lot then."

"Aye. We had at least two new and different ailments every day."

"No, change the angle of the stone a little… aye, that's it. Now smoothly… That's better."

The old sickle would not suffer under the young man's hands.

"This can't be difficult for you after working in the smithy…"

Eirik's answer was distracted, the tip of his tongue kept appearing between his teeth. "In theory I know how to apply the stone, but in reality I always end up notching the blade."

"Practice, youngster, practice… Same you keep telling Mark."

"Same _you_ keep telling Mark!"

The green eyes flew up to his face in sudden uncertainty – had he been too forward? But Lucas grinned widely. It was nice to get the boy to lose the restraint.

…..

The sun was setting as Donelly swung himself over the fence, painting the feathery clouds with deep colours of purple and pink. The two McCains were sitting on the porch. Lucas leaned back in the chair, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his leg resting on the footstool. Mark had carried a three-legged contraption to sit on outside and leaned against the wall.

"Beautiful sunset, isn't it?" Eirik smiled one of his rare, wide smiles that brightened his eyes and transformed his face.

Lucas lifted a hand in greeting. "Everything all right with the calves?"

"Yes. The little one was galloping around with the others. He's gonna be fine."

"Glad to hear it. Miss Hattie came by while you were gone, wanted to ask after those carvings."

"Did you show them to her?" Eirik's eyes fastened on Mark. The boy knew where he stored his little treasures. Lucas was still moving around on crutches.

"Yes. She was mighty pleased." The boy beamed. "She said if you could bring them down tomorrow when we come to church." The slight question in the light voice was not lost on the farmhand.

Eirik tilted his head, his smile still in place. "Guess I can't rightly get out of it this time."

"Why don't you like to go to church, Eirik?" Mark's question was innocent. He'd asked his father a few times, but Lucas was reticent in speaking for the other man. Now the older McCain half-closed his eyes in seeming tiredness, aware of the wary glance the farmhand sent his way.

Turning around to look out at the colourful display on the sky above them, Eirik sank down onto the porch steps. He leaned against the railing and stretched his long legs before him. "I don't agree with most things the men in these churches say. The Lord your pastor preaches about is not the one I learned about, or pray to, Mark."

Lucas had to give it to the young man, his words were such that Mark could understand and even he could concede.

"Why, how do you pray?" Eirik always joined in when they said grace or gave thanks before eating. Mark leaned forward.

"I grew up learning that praying is a private thing. And…" he tilted his head toward the dip in the horizon where the sun was fighting its losing battle. Lucas could see his profile clearly, the proud, aquiline nose, the elegant mouth, slightly pursed now. "A priest I once asked for support, for help… he betrayed my trust."

"How?"

Lucas bristled – the subject got dangerous.

But he should not have worried – Eirik was smart with words and always, always considerate of any children around, he had reason to remember.

"I told him a secret, something that was bothering me, and he tried to blackmail me."

"Oh." That was enough information for Mark. Secrets were secrets. Blackmail was simply not done. "Eirik, what does it look like where your home is?"

Lucas tensed inwardly.

But may it be the peace of the spring evening, the success with the sick calf, or the boy's innocently curious question, Eirik leaned his head against the crock and shrugged.

"The country is rough and wild where I grew up. The mountains reach much higher into the sky, the colours are colder, harder. There's a beauty to it that scares you as much as it pulls at you. You feel small in those forests, looking up at a peak covered in snow. Up on the top, you can't breathe because the air is so thin. There is the world at your feet in all its glory, its diversity."

Mark's mouth stood open, Lucas noted with a slight smile.

"What about the animals?"

Eirik smiled without turning his head. "Have you ever seen a desert fox? Or a coyote?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well, their cousins up north have shorter legs and smaller ears, because it is much colder. But the bears are much, much bigger, because the more mass they have the easier they stay warm. Same for the water birds – they are bigger in body, and very well adapted to their surroundings."

Lucas frowned a little – that was a lot of specific knowledge for a farmhand.

"But the bears… aren't they dangerous?"

"They're not worse than your mountain lions here, Mark. A grizzly will leave you in peace if you don't threaten him, similar to a wolf. They don't hunt for the fun of it, as the cats sometimes do. And they are magnificent animals – a young one, you'd immediately fall in love with. Nothing more adorable than a young bear."

"Is it true there are white bears, too?"

"You mean the polar bears?"

Mark shrugged expressively, eyes wide.

"There are both. Polar bears can get even bigger than grizzlies, and they really have white fur. But they live even further up north, where the snow is almost permanent. A white grizzly is about the rarest animal I know. The natives treat them as holy, and would never hunt them. White men do – for sport and the fur."

For a crazy moment the thought crossed Lucas' mind – which one did the young man consider himself – native or white?

"So what do people live on? How does one earn the money to buy things?"

"Life is different, but not too different from here, Mark. Just the winter is longer, so the summer months are busy, used for hard, fast work. Some families or communities specialize: wood, gold, ice, smoked meat… and fur trading."

Lucas could hear the change in the young man's intonation at the last words only because he was listening for it.

"What does your family do?"

Eirik hung his head. "We were fur traders, and had some smoking sheds."

"Why aren't they still? Where are they now?"

"Dead."

"Oh." Mark clasped his hand before his mouth and looked at his father in horror. His question had been unthinking, the answer too sudden. "I'm sorry."

Donnelly turned his head before Lucas could interfere. "Sorry if I startled you, Mark. It's not an easy subject."

"What happened?" Lucas asked measuredly.

A visible shiver ran over the young man, his countenance turned hard. Staring into the now completely dark near distance, he remained silent for a long while. Then…

"A fire."

"How old were you?" Mark wanted to know.

"Almost ten."

"I was six when my mother died." The boy had gotten up and sat down on the porch steps, hunching his shoulders against the cool wind. "But I had Pa. And we came here."

Eirik smiled a little, eyes still haunted. "You were very brave, starting fresh like that."

"It took us a while to find this place."

"I can imagine. But it is a special place, worth searching for."

Mark smiled widely. "You think so too?"

"Oh, absolutely." Eirik frowned with seriousness.

Lucas could not help but throw in leisurely: "Don't you have any plans to go back north? Pick up the profession of your father?"

The answer was very short for taking such a long time. "Not really."

But now McCain wanted to keep the young man talking. "Or try for another career?"

"Yes, your carving!" Mark helped his father unknowingly.

"Swenson the smith speaks highly of your work, too."

"And the Doc said if you ever wanted a change of scenery, you'd be welcome at his place! Remember?"

Eirik's reaction was evasive. "I'm a bit old for an apprentice…"

"Even better, then you can stay with us forever!" the boy threw in laughingly, eyes jumping between his father and the farmhand, aware of the tension.

Lucas grimaced, rubbing his hand over his face. "Mark, don't be hasty. It's time for bed anyway, young man."

Mark grimaced, but scampered off.

"Eirik, my question was serious. You must have plans for your future. I'd like to help in any way I can. You're not going to end as farmhand. I already owe you more than we can possibly earn."

The slender figure turned his head to face the large man. "You don't owe me anything beyond what we agreed on that first day, Mr. McCain."

"We're far beyond that, boy."

The young man stood suddenly, his move startling in its unconscious abruptness and grace. "I would not accept anything else."

Lucas frowned at the pale blob in the darkened night. "Eirik, these past weeks with me incapacitated, you kept the farm running. Plus tutoring Mark. I hope you earned some money with those carvings of yours, but…"

"Stop, Sir. You gave me work, shelter and a place at your table. Tutoring Mark was done freely in my own time." Eirik wiped his hand over his face, voice giving out.

"My name is Lucas, boy." The words were measured, but final. "Whatever your secrets, you will have to accept my gratitude. I owe you a life."

Eirik seemed to have stopped listening after the first words. "Lucas then." There was a curious intensity in his voice. He took a deep breath. "You've allowed me to call this place home. I am glad I was able to be of assistance … after your accident."

Lucas hid a grimace letting his head sink to his chest and broke into half-annoyed laughter. This half-grown kid and his formal demeanour… "Come here and assist me with getting out of this chair then, if you would."

The young man hesitated on the steps, uncertain. Then he squared his shoulders and pulled the taller man upright deliberately.

Lucas pushed Eirik's hat deep over his eyes, his grin turned mocking. The youngster tried to evade, but as he was steadying the rifleman with his arm, he had no way out. Chuckling melodically, he snatched the crutch from him and stepped back, all the while making sure he was not endangering the convalescent's balance. "Keep mocking me, and I'll take this away. Watch you hop around on one leg!"

Lucas enjoyed the laughter immensely. It was seldom enough the young man showed this playful side of him. "Only for two more days, Boy, then I can start walking around freely."

"The tyrant of the McCain farm awakens again."

Eirik's tone was of such dry, delighted evilness that Lucas almost doubled over with laughter. At once the farmhand's hand shot out, ready to support.

Lucas snorted, waving away the help. "I feel better than I've done in a while, Eirik. I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Lucas."

The curious intonation – this was the first time the young man had used his given name on purpose - sobered McCain. He turned in the door.

"Eirik."

The sheen from the lamp on the table put flecks of light into the young man's eyes.

"I've considered you a friend before this accident. You'll always have a place at our table." Without waiting for an answer, he hobbled inside and gently closed the door behind him. The expression on the young man's face would stay with him for a long time.

…


	10. Chapter 10

(I'm going to post a warning about the content of this, there's some innuendo of m/m interaction, but nothing graphic, and as you've hopefully understood so far, I'm of a more liberal background than the series itself suggested... )

Chapter 10 Strange Subjects

Sunday next, the father–son pair returned from church and lunch with the sheriff to find Eirik in the midst of a whole lot of chopped wood. It was early evening.

"Eirik, we're home!" Mark called, pulling BlueBoy's reigns.

"Mr. Valance can't have worked you very hard if you've got strength left for all that!" Lucas noted with raising brows. He could ride again, to his immense enjoyment and relief. Just the walking was still painful. "Leave up, boy, we'll help with the stapling. That's reserve for the next months!"

Eirik stared up at the two, glanced around and threw the axe expertly, if distractedly onto the block. "Guess I lost track."

"Everything all right?" The young man looked – troubled? "Things all right at Drumlock farm?"

"Yes. Repaired the fence – routine for when we'll tackle your fence here." There was a tension in the young man that reminded Lucas of a scared animal. The rifleman swung down from his horse and took a step closer.

"Mark, would you take the horses? - Eirik."

Something was definitely on the young man's mind, so much so that the attempt at a smile threatened to turn into the opposite.

The green eyes met his, wide and edged with panic. "Do you need me for anything, Lucas?"

The tall man frowned. "You mean right now?"

"I'll go for a ride, if that's ok."

"What about dinner?"

"Got something prepared." Eirik threw back already over his shoulder.

"No, I mean for you! Damn it, boy, what's wrong?"

But the young man was already at the other edge of the yard, and in a rare show of his physical abilities vaulted over the coral fence, took a running jump and landed on the dun's broad back. Spirit started to move even before the young man had buried his hands in the grey mane. Two silhouettes melting into one, the pair headed for the horizon at neck-breaking speed.

"Wow, Dad, did you see that? Spirit took the corral fence like it was nothing. I never knew Eirik could move like that! I thought you were the only one!"

Wiping the frown from his face, Lucas turned to his son. "I doubt many people can jump like our friend here. Come, I'll staple the wood and you look after the chicken."

Eirik's hat lay forgotten by the hacking block.

…..

Lucas sat on the porch waiting for the farmhand's return. Something had upset the young man, and the older McCain felt absurdly worried. The dynamic between the two men had changed during his recovery – Eirik taking on more responsibility and growing in confidence and implicitness with it. He had been sympathetic to the needs of the farm from the beginning. These days he instigated changes and repairs without asking.

Lucas sighed a silent breath of relief when the hoof beats grew louder. Eirik jumped off the tall horse even before he reached the yard, leading him in on foot, considerate of the presumably asleep occupants.

Clearing his throat gently, Lucas had the satisfaction of startling the slender figure. "Feeling better?"

"You waited up for me?"

"When a friend is distraught I tend to worry. The dun could have broken a leg, the way you raced out of here."

Eirik shrugged, taking a step closer. "He's used to me going crazy like that." The young man seemed much calmer. "I had to set my head straight."

So his sneaking suspicion was correct. "Mr. Valance?"

Eirik looked at him, his face visibly torn under the clear sky. "How'd… oh. It's common knowledge?"

"That he's a sodomite? It's not talked about much, some folks take offence, but it's known. So far he's been a decent fellow. What happened?"

Eirik was not ready to elaborate. "You say this so calmly."

For a moment Lucas was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"Your priest in town would not approve."

Ah, that had the boy confused. "That's a discussion for another day, but there's a difference between righteous and petty. Valance has not hurt a fly, he's good to his animals, and fair to his workers. He never made a secret of what his preferences are… Will you tell me what happened?" If the neighbour had hurt the young man, things would look much different.

The young man sat down heavily on the porch steps, leaning against the crock, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Thinking back now, I was rather blind. When I asked for his team of oxen, I was desperate – you were injured."

Lucas felt his lips twitch.

"I guess my words could be misread. Anyway, today, after we finished the fence, he invited me inside for a bite, offered me a beer. I declined, but he drank." Eirik shook himself like a horse might. "I admired a clock he has on his mantelpiece…"

Lucas nodded. "He's got quite the collection of marvels." He'd been to the other man's house on one or two occasions.

"He came up behind me… tried to kiss me." The boy buried his face in his arms.

Lucas held his breath. This could go two possible ways.

"I startled… almost knocked him unconscious." A strangled laugh escaped. "The expression in his face… then he began laughing, and begged my forgiveness. I even helped him upright. We parted as gentlemanly as humanly possible." Tilting his face up to the sky, the young man moved his shoulders. A long breath later: "Sounds ridiculous now."

"Not if he took you completely by surprise, or you experienced something similarly unwelcome before."

This time, the shiver that ran over the young man, making the hands he'd spread in the dim light shake, was unconscious. He burrowed them into his hair, seemed to startle at the scarf in place.

Lucas weighed for a long moment if he should even say another word. But Eirik wasn't making a move to retire.

"That priest you mentioned…"

Bumping his head against the post at his back, the young man closed his eyes. "Aye. Bad memories. He was not gentleman – but a 'man of the church'." The disgust in his voice startled himself. He sat up. "Sorry, Lucas, I know you have a different opinion."

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen. Escaped his fat fingers by a hair. He's the reason I'm so 'proficient' with my staff – and without it."

"You had no one to turn to? To get justice?"

"He was the last link to my childhood – I thought I could turn to him, if anybody at all."

Lucas grimaced, rubbing his hands over his face. It was a wonder the young man could talk about prayer and having faith at all.

"Mr. Valance, though… you had dealings with him?"

"Aye." Lucas shrugged expressively, stretching his arms. "He's had the place for a few years, lives rather reclusively, but one does meet – he has an interest in horses. I helped him out once, found him with a twisted ankle in the field, his horse bitten by a rattler… Out here, as long as nobody is hurt, we leave people to their own devices."

"Oh, I don't take offence at who he is." The deep voice had its normal timbre back. "The natives are much more open about relations that way."

"That's good." The rifleman felt absurdly pleased the situation had resolved itself with such relative ease.

"He must be really good with his gun and his fists."

"The gun part is true – he's made a name for himself down south and even during the war. Fists, I don't know. How do you figure?"

"He can't have had it easy, being who he is."

Lucas frowned.

The young man looked up at him, upper lip curling. "Very few towns have a Micah Torrence for sheriff, and a Lukas McCain to keep them thinking straight."

"Ah…" Lucas wiped a hand over his face. He could think of a few instances when this town of his had threatened to forget which path they wanted to follow. He frowned at the younger man. HOw much of his words had been mockery?

The dun chose the moment to remind his friend that he needed to be taken care of before he settled for the night, and Eirik stood laboriously. "Yes, you're right, old friend." Over his shoulder he added toward Lucas: "I'll rub him down and turn in. Thank you for waiting for me."

"Glad to have you home safe and of calmer mind." The tall man sneered gently and stood, too. "G'Night."


	11. Chapter 11

AN: This chapter feels rushed to me, but I'm so impatient to get on to the more intense parts of the story, I'm going to post it and maybe come back to this one later. Reviews much appreciated! Thanks to ye all for sticking with me so far! Chapter 11 Strange Visitors

Chapter 11 Strange Visitors

The rifleman was grinding corn in the yard, a work he could do while favouring his leg, when he grew aware of furious hoof beats. He reached for the rifle beside him and got up, taking the few steps toward the farm entrance.

"Lucas!"

It was Eirik, who called out loudly before he caught sight of his employer. The young man held a dirty bundle in front of him on the dun stallion. Catching sight of the tall man, he brought the horse to a stop and swung his leg over the horse's back, terribly careful of the bundle.

A darkly curled head appeared from the nondescript cloth, dark eyes regarded Lucas seriously over tear-stained, but reassuringly plump cheeks.

"Found her in the open prairie a few miles from your northern border." Eirik was out of breath – one of the few times McCain had seen him this way.

"What were you doing there?"

"I saw vultures circling and trying to land, thought maybe a calf had broken through the fence. Found this." He smiled lopsidedly. The girl clung to his shirt with chubby, dirty fingers. "She's got a few scratches from a bird of prey I'd think, but otherwise seems healthy. Can't talk much yet, only a few words here and there. But her people must be out there, she could not have walked that far alone."

"That way is not even a road." Lucas mused. "If you say she's got scratches, maybe a bird took her and carried her away?"

Eirik's frown made Lucas question his statement. "But even so, can't have been more than a few miles. I'd like to feed her and see if she can tell me anything. Maybe an accident happened?"

Without much more ado, the young man carried the girl into the living room. The only difficulty surfaced in his inability to loosen the dead grip the child had on him, and was forced to feed her a few spoons of broth while she was sitting on his lap.

Lucas had to grin involuntarily. The soft expression on his friend's face was something seldom seen… "Suits you, Eirik."

The young man gave him a dirty look in return. But the gratification of the child's trust, her eating heartily gave the lie to the stern face.

"All right, little one, can you tell me what happened? Where is your mum? Your Pa?"

The little girl only looked at him solemnly.

"Maman? Papa?" Eirik tried again, and a flicker of recognition crossed over the child's face. "Ah, so you've got French roots? Tu me comprends maintenant?"

Lucas narrowed his eyes at that. He spoke a few bits of Spanish, but the way the young man spoke French…. Ah, hadn't he said once he came from up north? Canada? The French province?

Meanwhile, the girl had let go of Eirik's shirt and began babbling, motioning with her whole body. "Woo woo. Mrrrrhmm. Iiiiieh!"

Eirik exchanged a helpless glance with the other man. "Help, you've got a son! What's she saying?"

"I thought you spoke French?"

Eirik grinned despite the dire situation. "I gather more from her body language and the sounds she's making. I think she might be too young to speak properly. But I've got an idea. What if we show her the wagon in the barn. She wasn't scared of Spirit in any way."

Without waiting he got up, settling the child on his hip in a matter-of-fact way. Shaking his head, the tall rifleman followed. "You think she's from a wagon? But I said there's no road for miles that way!"

It proved a sound idea. The little wagon seemed to confuse the child. Eirik made her stand on it, and after a few moments of contemplation, the girl began to stomp down the length of the contraption, babbling first slowly, then more excitedly. She seemed to be missing the covering the trail wagons all had, painting a hazy picture with her little hands.

"Sweetling, your maman, your papa?"

Patting on the wood, the girl proceeded to pull Eirik onto the wagon, and unmistakably made him lie down along its side.

Lucas thought the young man would make an adorable father – as much as he was a patient friend and brother to Mark. He went along with all seriousness.

"Are we playing a game? C'est un jeu?"

The babe lay down with him, and mimed closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

Distracted by the sound of Mark returning from school, Lucas stepped outside to greet his son.

"Pa!"

"Sh, quiet, son, we've got a strange little visitor."

"What do you mean?"

"Come, maybe you can make sense of this!"

The scene that awaited them was sweet in its utter incredibility. Eirik leaned on his side, watching the little girl keenly. The child was jumping up and down wildly now, but constrainedly – she was playacting, that much was clear. Arms flailing, she fell on her knees, only to jump up immediately. Then she stood still, turned around and around a few slow turns, only to change into a little wild animal, attacking Eirik with cubby hands forming talons, her face drawn into a fierce grimace. The sounds she made during the charade underlined the story and painted a picture that Eirik clearly was beginning to understand.

Come to that, Lucas himself found a thought taking form.

And Mark put it into words: "Pa – the horses shied, the wagon overturned, and then some kind of animal, maybe a bird, attacked."

The boy's clear voice startled their fair visitor so badly that she sat down right into the safe zone of Eirik's arms, staring at the newcomer with wide, reproachful eyes.

"Ah!" she stated, pointing one chubby hand at Mark.

"Hello there! Where did you come from?" The boy asked, enchanted already.

"I found her on the field a few miles north of the fence. I think you understood her better than any of us could. What do we do now?" On hand was closing protectively around the small creature.

Lucas had a plan ready: "I'll ride into town to gather a few men for a search party. You ride back to where you found her, take water and food with you."

"Can I go with Eirik, Pa? I can take a few tools for to fix the wagon?"

Eirik met the tall man's glance. "And maybe some bandages?"

"Right, son, ride with Eirik. We'll be with you in no time. We'll take the shortcut through the gully."

Riding into North Fork to quickly gather a few men including the Doc gave Lucas the time to think about what had taken place in the barn. How did Eirik know to gain this child's trust so quickly, to use a two-year-old's innate ability and intention to describe what she had seen? He knew how to handle the child: his tone of voice, the way he cradled the small body to him protectively. The first moment Lucas had met the young man came back to him: even then he had been protective of the children around him.

From the farmhand's description, the group knew where to look for Eirik and Mark. It was a plateau of sparse prairie up here, the craggy cliffs forming a border to the east. There was no path miles around, no water, just a few bare trees. But it seemed the two younger men had found something – Mark was heading towards them.

"We found them, Pa. The wagon's axle broke. One of the horses has a broken leg, the other broke free and ran."

"What about the people?"

"The father must have been sick before the accident, he has a fever. The mother got pinned under the wagon and could not get free by herself. Eirik and I got her out."

They reached the scene of the accident, and a murmur arose within the men with him. The woman, who held the little girl to her with wide eyes, was a native Indian. Eirik straightened from where he was tending to a motionless stranger – a white stranger – and took in the hesitant faces behind Micah, Lucas and the Doc. His face changed from uncaring, intent presence to wary, painful reticence. "Well met, Lucas, Doc, Sheriff. This man needs medical attention, the woman's ankle is probably broken. Lucas, the wagon's axle can be fixed, if we find something to replace it." The green eyes tried to convey his anxiety to the other man. Lucas understood the meaning behind the strained gaze – get the men to tackle something, or they might start thinking too much. Natives were a difficult subject around here.

He took control of the situation. Micah Torrence and the Doc had no issues with the picture presenting itself, and while one helped bandage the young mother's leg, the other bent over the unconscious father.

Lucas could hear the quiet conversation that ensued.

"What happened here, Donnelly?"  
"They`re on their way to San Jose. The husband took sick a few days ago, and his wife took over the team. She got lost in the rain two days ago, ended up on this plateau. Some time during the night one of the horses shied, breaking the harness, and spooking the other one. The mother thinks the axle may have been faulty before, and gave under the additional strain. The babe rolled from the upturned wagon, she herself hit her head and found herself trapped when she awoke a few hours later."

"What are they doing here anyway? A mixed couple like that won't have it easy…" Micah trailed off.

"She's a trained teacher. Their plan was t' find a farm some place close to a native homestead, and try offer a bridging education."

"You approve, I take it, Donnelly."

Lucas watched his farmhand stand straight, squaring his shoulders. Eirik stated angrily: "Absolutely. There are few enough people actually doing something and not just talking about it."

"Peace, young man, I concur. Admirable intentions, with a small child, no messing. So you speak French?" The old sheriff had picked up on the quick, melodic exchange between the young man and the mother and her little girl.

"Aye. Her name is Florence, and the babe is Antoinette."

Lucas stood from where he had been bent over the wagon's wheel. "Doc, what's your opinion?"

"He's in no shape to ride. Can you fix the wagon?"

"Aye, for the short trip to one of the outlying farms, yes. Not much further without proper repairs."

"Then let's take this as far as we can safely get. He needs a bed and care. And I gather, she does too."

One of the men the rifleman had asked to ride with him stepped back now. "I'm done helping here. I won't ask anyone to take in a family like this one."

McCain reached out to put a hand onto his farmhand's shoulder, so abrupt had been the boy's angry reaction.

"You won't have to ask anything of anybody, Slater. I'll take them in."

"Bleedin' heart, McCain, you sure you want…"

"Leave it at that, man, we don't want to start this here. Go home, and thank you for your work this far."

The tall rifleman ignored the way Eirik strained against his grip, hands balled into white-knuckled fists.

"Let it go, boy. Its not worth a fight now."

"Not now. That's a promise." The young man spat out quietly. He relaxed consciously, and went to help the young woman onto the wagon.

…

For a full two weeks the young family were guests on the McCain farm, bringing unexpected life and laughter with them. The usual farmwork had to be done, though Florence made herself useful wherever she could, hobbling around with Lucas' crutch. Mark was excused from school every other day to help look after the little girl, who delighted in the increased attention and the sudden freedom of movement this involuntary stay provided. The boy slept in the barn with Eirik, so one of the rooms could be given over to the young family. The father took the longest to recover; Doc Burrage came up to the McCain farm daily in the beginning. The young man had caught a bad fever, and even after it broke he was weak as a kitten for the longest time.

Eirik seemed to be the least affected by the change. He joked once to Mark that "he'd been in the flow of caring for Lucas, and now two more patients didn't make a difference". He spent his every free moment with little Antoinette and the mother, speaking their tongue, making both smile.

Lucas found himself ridiculously envious of either the French mother or his young farmhand – the ease with which Eirik spoke the young couple's language, the way his face lit up when the baby smiled at him, stretching chubby arms toward him to be picked up.

…

"Lucas…"

The rifleman had not heard the young man approach. The deep voice carried hesitation in a way the rifleman had not heard in a long while. Lucas turned his long body toward the lanky farmhand.

"What's on your mind, young man?"

Eirik had been out checking on the herd for two days, and reported nothing amiss. Lucas narrowed his eyes – the boy's expression promised controversy.

"I rode through town today. It troubles me how there is so much deep set hatred and mistrust, even against a woman and a child."

Ah. Things must have been bad for him to bring it up in this way. But then he did not know this place as well as the McCains did. Lucas tilted his head. "People are scared of everything the don't understand."

The play of muscle against the young man's cheeks betrayed his emotions. But he stayed silent, eyes brooding, piercing the rifleman as if trying to read his mind.

"And the wars have left a good deal of bad feelings against the natives…" Eirik half turned, but did not interrupt. "There have been few incidents here, but stories are brought to town from everywhere."

Eirik exploded, though mindful of the sleeping children and recuperating guests. "Hilariously exaggerated, I bet. The war… come on, they are fighting for their lives, too! And what's bothering me is, how people come here, to start fresh, live their lives, but how arrogant they are at it – while pleading humble servitude to their god! Start fresh, yes, but on who's blood and sweat? There are so few men and women who understand or bloody give a shit that they are intruding in to a world that is older than their religion, destroy holy places that hold more honesty than their churches, kill souls that are more noble that their forefathers…" He buried his face in his hands for a moment, but carried on, unable to steady his anger. He seemed so woefully young to the rifleman. "They call them heathens – and in the name of their precious religion carry out the most horrendous crimes. Who started this war – and who won't allow it to settle? There are always voices ready to restart the issues… and look how they are faring with the black people! All of this…"

The rifleman reached out and put a heavy hand on the young man's shoulder. Eirik was shivering with the intensity of his emotions.

"There is a lot of bad in this world, but also a lot of good. I will not defend the church, nor our priest to you, Eirik. But have faith in humanity, you will find it in the most curious places. Look at this young family. They were lost, and would have died, all three of them, if not for your intuition."

"But they would still have died, left to themselves, if not for you!" The boy spat out, hands clenching into fists.

Lucas hid a smile. "Many of them will think on this incident, on your reaction. Micah for certain will have given them an earful. Some things have to happen for change to occur in peoples' minds. Sometimes horrific things, sometimes small happy things." Now he did smile. "Like Tony racing toward Spirit when you came home today. That babe was a sight, and you thundering down the hill like that!"

He could feel the tension seeping out of the rock-hard muscles under his hand, until even the bitter expression on the narrow features softened.

"She loves that horse."

"And it's rider, no mistake. Eirik, don't underestimate the influence of small gestures. Not everybody is your equal in perception, but most will choose the right path if given the opportunity." He let his hand drop finally, satisfied that his young friend had calmed down.

A curious expression hushed over Eirik's features, there and gone in the darkness. He shivered slightly and wrapped his arms around himself as if cold. Lucas felt his heart clench for the young man, so intense in his every emotion. _Now that he was voicing what was going on in that head of his,_ he added dryly to himself. Miss Hattie's words the other day came to mind: " _This young man will make some lucky girl a wonderful husband."_

"Go to bed, boy."

Eyes already clouded again, the young man gave a short nod and traipsed off toward the barn.

…..

Once there was a moment the tall man thought he heard his and Mark's name in the conversation between Florence and Eirik, and when he glanced up from where he was working, he found two sets of impermeable eyes trained on him. Eirik's face darkened, he turned away, his answer to Florence short and understandable: "No."

Waiting for Lucas to return to his work, the young mother seemed to try and convince the young man of something, but Lucas could not make out the sense of their conversation. Eirik was left restless and uncharacteristically short of temper for the next days.

Mark too envied the unintentionally secret conversations these two had – for the young father was an American, a surveyor, who had, as they found out, decided to settle in a small town with wife and child. The boy made Eirik teach him a few sentences, making the young mother laugh behind her hand with his pronunciation.

Finally the young family was well enough to leave for their destination, their wagon fixed and prepared for mostly anything that might come their way now.

The young father took his leave of Lucas with warm words of gratitude, pressing a small packet into his hands in farewell. It took all three inhabitants of the McCain farm hard to see the lively family leave, especially the little girl.

What made Lucas take notice though was the way his weird, overeducated farmhand and the young mother took their leave of each other with words and mannerisms foreign to their surroundings: grabbing each other's forearms and leaning their foreheads together for the space of a breath. The young woman then took Eirik's face into her hands and touched her lips to his brow. Eirik only bent his head lower, visibly shaken by the demonstration.

Lucas was reminded hotly then – the young man had lived with natives.

Eirik and Mark stood for a long moment looking after the retreating wagon, waving to Antoinette.

Eirik swung onto his dun stallion's back and with a few short words of explanation to Mark rode off.

"He's going to check on the lower field." The boy told his father. "Pa?"

"Yes, son?" Lucas thought he knew what was coming.

"It was nice to have them."

"Aye, Mark, I agree."

"Do you think Eirik is sorry, too?"

"You'd have to ask him. But I should think so."

"He's always riding off."

Lucas chuckled. "He's not the talking type, is he?"

Mark had to grin, too. But he grew thoughtful. "He did talk a lot with Florence, though."

That was true. "I got a feeling they might be from similar areas."

"It was pretty cool the way he spoke their language!"

Lucas smiled. It had been a new side to the young man.

"Come, let's get back to work."

"And back to school…" the boy pulled a face, making the tall man laugh and push his hat down over his face.

But he could not quite shake the picture of Eirik and the native woman.

…..


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12 While drunk

"Mark looks a lot like his mother." Eirik was looking at a picture on the McCain's cupboard.

"Aye, he does."

"But he hardly talks about her."

"He was only six when she died, he hardly remembers her."

"That must hurt." The young man's words were so matter-of-fact, so quiet and thoughtful, Lucas glanced over at him. Alerted by the movement, the other lifted his head, shrugged, and would have drawn back. But Lucas held his gaze. It wasn't often somebody understood this particular part of missing Margaret.

"Yes, it does," he admitted quietly. "He's like the living remainder of what he doesn't know."

"Oh, but you must be aware that she lives on in every move, every action you take for both of you."

"What are you saying?" Was the cognac obscuring his thoughts?

"That you'd be a different man – if you didn't have Mark, and the picture of 'what could have been' had you not lost her."

Lucas grimaced involuntarily. "The things falling in love do with us men, eh?"

"Don't you think it does the same to women, to a woman who falls in love with you?" there was a curious intensity to the deep voice.

He shrugged. "Maybe."

"What was she like?"

Lucas took a long sip from his glass. The two men had played a game of chess after Mark had gone to bed. Only Lucas was drinking alone, not even his good cognac could entice the young man to join him.

"She was beautiful. Had a lovely smile. Mark's smile. Mark's hair and eyes. She grounded me, from the wild boar to… well…"

Eirik hid his face. "To the refined gentleman sitting here today?"

Lucas choked on the liquid still in his mouth. "She'd have liked you."

That made the younger man pause. Then: "I think you're doing a wonderful job with Mark."

"I sometimes wonder how much of it is my doing." The tall man moved his shoulders.

Donnelly leaned forward, eyes intent in the lamplight. "Everything, Lucas, never doubt that. She would tell you so if she could, trust me."

"Ever even been with a woman?"

The young man shrugged, amusement curling his lips. "Yes."

"Ever been married, Donnelly?"

"Me? No."

"Then what would you know about parenting?"

Eirik pulled back visibly. "I had a wonderful mother, and a very smart and… forward thinking… father." His voice was hoarse.

"You too lost them at an early age?"

"Yes." Every inch of the slender man, expressive despite the loose clothes, projected indecision and tension.

"Eirik?"

"Forgive me, I can't speak about them… yet."

Lucas nodded slowly, content with burying his curiosity once more. The young man was unhappy with himself.

"There were others, who lost both child and spouse. I can't understand how they went on. Mark was everything that kept me on the righteous path… without him…"

Eirik was watching him with serious, sad eyes.

"… I'd have had no faith to cling to, no reason to stand straight, to think one step further than myself."

The youngster shook his head minutely. "I don't believe that for a moment. It may seem like that to you, but the seed of who you are for your son is in you, will always be there. It might get buried for a bit, but it would surface – always."

That was kind of uplifting to hear with such conviction.

"But I agree on one point – the boy brings out the best in all but the most jaded people."

It must be the alcohol that made Lucas speak the next words. "Sometimes I get scared that I didn't prepare him rightly for all the bad things – bad people out there."

"Isn't the most basic right of every child to trust in the world and to believe in the good? Sure, he'll have bitter experiences to gain, but he'll make them on his own turf."

Hell, the boy had a way with words. "What do you mean?"

"He'll have something – you – to put everything he sees into perspective. A fair and solid ground to start from. And that's what counts."

"You have too good an opinion of me, young man."

"Respectfully, I disagree, refined rifleman and all…"

Lucas snorted.

"Why is it you don't drink? At all?"

The young man turned his face away. "I've seen what alcohol does to people, and I didn't like what it did with me… tried it once."

"The lowering of your defences?" McCain tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Eirik was slowly opening up, he should respect the boy's reticence.

The lines around the green eyes spoke of sudden sadness, of a raw disappointment and world-wariness. No answer came.

"You're too young to look like that, farmhand. I wanted to ask you something else." He was slurring the words slightly, overplaying his tiredness and inebriation. Hold on to the moment. "That harmonica… d' you think Mark would like to learn a proper instrument?"

Eirik took a breath and held it, taken by surprise at the change of subject. "I'm of a mind to say yes?"

"I've heard one of the saloon girls is moving – getting married out east. She's looking to sell her guitar."

"Fair offer?"

"I have no idea whatsoever."

Eirik grinned widely. The green eyes held warmth, but Lucas turned, staring in the near distance in front of him, unseeing.

"You know something about guitars?"

"A little. I can have a look at the instrument. Who's the girl?"

"Sarah, the blonde one. Have you ever even been inside the saloon?"

The young man threw him an unreadable glance and ignored the question. "Right. How much would you be willing to pay?"  
"Ye know how tight finances are until we sell the stock…" Lucas shrugged uncomfortably.

"I'll talk to her, see if we can figure something out."

Comfortable silence settled between the two men. Lucas smoked silently, Eirik stretched out his legs beside the table.

"Ever thought of remarrying?"

Lucas glanced over at his companion, aware instinctively that the question had not consciously been asked out loud. His own thoughts had returned to their first subject, too.

"I'm sorry, it's none of my…"

The rifleman lifted a hand, silencing the young man.

"There was a girl, a friend of Margaret's. She lost husband and boy when we lost Margaret. She came here, two years and a bit ago. I thought… I may have hoped… but she was…" He shrugged heavily. It didn't hurt any more, though it chafed a bit. "She was scared of Margaret's shadow."

"But…" A frown creased Eirik's forehead.

"Spit it out, boy."

"Would she have expected you to ignore the fact that she had loved before?"

"We never got that far. I guess Mark would always be a living reminder – for me and for her. She didn't have anyone to hold her ghosts…" Lucas shook himself. "She was scared of getting hurt." This conversation was getting mighty deep.

The young man stretched out his arms over his head, yawning.

"It's impossible to find somebody who'll never hurt you… just gotta find somebody who's worth the pain."

"That's a bit dark, youngster… But I guess loosing somebody is different for everyone."

"You mean how you deal with missing somebody?"

"Aye…" Did he have a few smart words here, too?

Eirik was staring into the fire, lids heavy. "Missing somebody has nothing to do with how long gone they are, but how much of your heart they held."

"I knew it!" Lucas let a fist fall lightly onto the table top and grinned widely at his baffled companion. "You're a romantic, a dreamer! No wonder those girls are all making moon-eyes at you!" The rifleman sneered good-naturedly at the embarrassment he caused his farmhand and refused to let him answer. It fit too well with their conversation about the dark depths of humanity. "You're mighty eloquent considering the fact I'm the drunk one. Not much left of the 'mysterious whittler' they called you in the beginning."

The young man chuckled at that, and sat up laboriously. "They did? Then I'd rather leave you to the last dregs and find myself a bedpost to talk to… can't give all my secrets away."

Lucas' face was still contorting in mirth. "I never noticed you talking in your sleep, boy. Go, have a good night's rest."

Lips twisting, Eirik answered with a quiet: "G' night, big guy."

…


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13 Stories from the other side

A couple weeks later, the two men were working side by side on repairing the fence. They had exchanged few words, the silence comfortable and companionable at first. But after half of the morning had passed, Lucas was watching his younger friend with hidden exasperation – he had asked Eirik twice what was eating at him, but both times the boy had shaken his head, not looking up. More than twice he had watched Eirik take a breath, begin to speak, only to swallow his words and return to his work with dangerous energy. Lucas was ready to hit the farmhand's finger with his hammer to slow him down, when the young man began to speak.

"I had a brother, a twin." The deep voice was strained, the words were hesitant. The hammer clanged DUMPFFGF against his boot. "Your son was right. I have irish, amish and native indian blood, though the irish part is strongest in my looks. Trapper and hunter, the whole family." It seemed something had broken loose inside Eirik. "Renowned for the production of jerky and furs, the curing a secret kept in the family. We weren't wealthy by money standards, but safe, even in Canadian winters." He wiped a hand over his forehead, leaving a dark streak. It was still cold, and the work was not easy. "There were few traders that were trustworthy, and we stuck with them."

Here he paused, as if uncertain how to go on. Lucas leaned on a post for a moment and asked gently: "Who's 'we'?"

"Uncle and Father did most of the trading. Mother and her sister the woodwork. Em-" he broke off, a shiver in his voice. "My brother and me helped where we could. Cutting and smoking the meat. Small hands, gathering, setting traps, you name it. Same as Mark here now."

Lucas could guess where this was going. But at ten years of age?

"God, it's still hard talking about it."

"Let me make it easier for you. Name Benton going to turn up?"

That name brought a vulnerability into the young man's face that shook McCain.

"You asked around?"

Lucas shrugged. "It's lonely country out here and I have a son. Remember I asked you once if anything in your past could follow you here."

The green eyes searched his face for a long moment, then he shrugged. "What did you hear?"

Lucas took a breath and grimaced. "You're from Montreal? Word is, a family fell afoul of the natives, on accord of this businessman. There was a fire, and only one child survived, but vanished from the face of the earth. Until about four years ago, when a young man named Donelly turned up asking after Benton, riding a dun stallion."

Eirik's face had that closed expression Lucas had thought banished. Now the young man turned with renewed energy and punctuated every few words with a hammer-blow. "Amazing, the way people twist stories. My uncle would not trade with Benton, who wanted kind of a monopoly on the fur trade. Benton had him killed. Kidnapped my Mother and her sister, to force Father into an agreement. Father – he's the native blood in my family, finished King's college and all - went to the authorities, and got delayed by bureaucracy until they were both dead. To make a point, Benton had our house burnt to the ground. I had been out gathering, me brother was preparing the soak. I heard Benton's men passing in the woods, and raced to town to get my father. We returned to find the house burning. Me Father plunged inside, searching for me brother. Father's tribesmen had gathered by then, held me back, tried to help with water and sand, but everything was too late. The house collapsed on them both."

McCain had stared at the young man's emotionless face during the tale, unable to move. He could feel the pain running through the younger man, the anger, the helplessness – all feelings he knew himself, too.

But to deal with this kind of tragedy and come out a young man of such character, there were a few stops missing. "The Indians were your extended family?"

"Aye." He raked a hand over his face. "I went quite mad after that. The tribe took me in, as much as I let them. They tried their best, they did their best. When I turned adult, they sent me to university even. I got a degree in civil engineering."

"An engineer!" Lucas exclaimed, truly surprised. "That's how you knew to rebuild the pump so quickly, and the hole in the chimney? How you explain things to Mark and he understands? Your discussions with Miss Schuler! The work at the smithy… the carving you did for the church. That little contraption you made for the sick child…" He scratched his head, pushing his hat right to the very back of it.

"But then why are you here? Working as a farmhand outside Norfolk? You should be with the railroad company earning a bloody fortune!"

The young man observed him calmly, waiting for something. McCain stared back, trying to read the other man. "Benton. What happened to him?"

Eirik grimaced. "Nothing. He got a slap on the wrist, cashed in his money, up and left. Went south. You see, it was the word of a ten year old-" the young man stopped himself, swallowed. "half-native – against that of a respected – or feared businessman. Up there, life is harsh, and if you've got the money, you've often got the power. He'd made it look like another native tribe had taken my mother and aunt as revenge against my Father's tribe, and the house burned down the way houses burn. Tragic, but how should it be his fault. Also," he scratched his head with an embarrassed grimace, "-I stopped speaking for a while there. Trauma."

Something twisted in the tall man. "Now you're looking for revenge?" This clear face should not be scrunched up in vicious hatred.

"To be honest, I thought I was. I left after my graduation, fleeing the city with a vague plan of picking up Benton's trail. Only he hadn't left much of a trail, probably changed his name. Kansas was the place where the tracks ran dry."

Thoughts churning, Lucas stood. They had finished the wire roll faster than he had calculated. He started walking back toward the wagon and the horses. Donelly fell in step beside him.

"So you gave up after Kansas?"

"I gave up on cities after Kansas. On a stallion such as Spirit, I realised I was asking for trouble if I kept going like that. But I'd never give him up. So I went off-road, small towns, worked here and there."

Lucas nodded thoughtfully. He could hear the wistful yearning in the boy's voice. He had been searching for… he probably did not know himself. The wagon train… "But you kept asking questions."

"Yes, but low key. I lost trust in my own memory's picture of him along the way."

Lucas paused, looking down at his farmhand. "Again, the question of why Norfolk? I understand that you had no money… so for a few months, but why stay?"

The shorter man grimaced expressively, weight in his eyes. "I guess it was a confluence of circumstances."

The rifleman's eyes narrowed – that was an evasion. He waited, challenging his counterpart with his gaze.

Eirik moved his shoulders, unconsciously betraying his inner reluctance to elaborate. "Working with you and Mark… you made me see what life could be like. I haven't given up on going after Benton, but the work here gave me a reason to stop and consider. Take inventory, if you will. Even got me thinking about finding my own spot to farm." The frankness in his gaze was touching. "I never meant to stay for so long."

Lucas lifted his arms and let them fall helplessly; the bag of nails clanging against his boots. "I've got an engineer working for me for less than a farmer's money!"

Eirik grimaced uneasily and focused on his hands.

Lucas frowned in thought. "That's quite some traveling you did. Montreal to Kansas… now down here in New Mexico. All on horseback? All alone?"

"Horseback, yes. Alone, not all of it. I joined wagon trains here and there, even did some diplomacy leading them through native territory."

The rifleman caught on a painful twinge in the shadowed face. "Living one leg in each world?"

"Aye." Eirik lifted the last roll of wire from the wagon.

"Can't have been easy." That part had been visible now and then in his friends countenance, in their conversations.

"No. Took me a while."

"You went to university as a native?"

"No, as you see me now. I can't switch race, too white for that. I had trouble adjusting to civilisation as it was."

"I can imagine. But… Benton. What's your plan now?"

"There is no plan any more. I lost the trail."

"Find a place to settle down? Find a girl?"

"Not certain I'm ready for all that…"

Lucas had the sudden intuition that there was something else this young man had yet to tell.

"Find a profession… or two?" He grinned, trying to ease the tension out of his counterpart's shoulders. Eirik would pull a muscle if he kept hammering away like that.

But Eirik did not join, rather half turned away. "There is something else that kept me from taking up a profession." There was a note in the young man's voice that alerted Lucas and soured his laughter. "I never meant to… stay, to let this go on for so long."

"You said that already."

"Sam Buckhart… I thought he had seen through…" He reached up and threw his hat to the floor. Colour leaving his face, his hand crept up to the scarf covering his hair. "I'm not…"

A frown stole its way onto the clear-cut features, his hand sank, he turned. Now Lucas could hear it too – hoof beats. The taller man automatically reached for his rifle, Eirik whistled for Spirit.

It was Mark and a younger, red haired boy who came riding double toward them at neck-breaking speed.

Mark jumped practically into Lucas' arms, clinging to his father unable to catch his breath. The younger boy slipped to the ground after him, stumbling, and stood, tears running down his face. Eirik knelt and gathered him gently into his arms.

"Mark! Mark, what happened? Are you hurt?"

The boy shook his head wildly, swallowing tears.  
"Pa!" Mark buried himself in his father's arms, shaking. "They came to the school!"

Lucas exchanged a worried glance with Eirik, reading consternation in the young man's face. The younger child was shaking, pale and silent, but clung to the gentle hands with force.

It took a while for the older boy to calm down, and finally form words: "Men came to the school and took Miss Schuler. I never seen them, but she seemed to know one of them, called him Ned. They locked us in, but I climbed through the window. Jerry followed, only he didn't have anywhere to go. Pa, there's chaos in town! I didn't stay to look, but I heard shooting and I thought I heard screams. I took Jerry with me."

"Did you see Micah?"

"No, Pa. The door to the sheriff's office was closed. The Smithy was empty. We didn't dare to stay. I grabbed BlueBoy and we came here."

Lucas glanced at Eirik, a deep frown on his face. He pushed his son gently upright. "Mark, you did well. Listen, you take Jerry to the farm. You should be safe there. Eirik and I will ride into town and see what's going on."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the younger man standing, too, after he had wiped the little boy's cheeks. Jerry looked shaken, but resolved. He grasped Mark's hand and let himself be lifted onto BlueBoy's back, wrapping his arms around his friend tightly.

"Can you make sure mine Ma and Pa are ok?"

"Yes, Jerry, we'll make sure. Nobody would hurt the smith, I'm certain. I'll tell your Ma that you are safe with Mark." Eirik touched Mark's leg with a smile. "Go, you two, and be safe!"

Lucas was already sprinting toward his horse. Eirik jumped onto the tall dun stallion's back, catching up with the rifleman thundering down the hillside.

"There were strangers in town last week, a group of five, maybe. But they left after a warm meal and a few games at the saloon." Lucas remembered, unable to recall any of their faces.

Closing in on the town, the young man held out a hand calmly. "Lucas, you're a well known face in town and around. You ride in straight, I'll circle around and try to get into the Sheriff's office."

"Think a diversion is necessary?"

The young man shrugged. "Hard to say, but I might get through where you'd be noticed. I'll pass by the school house, check on the children and get them to safety."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 Trouble with women – or men

Lucas rode on, noticing several things as he neared the centre. The noise was different, and there were strangers lurking in pairs on strategic posts around the main square. Lucas left his horse at the smith's deserted store, and walked slowly toward the main plaza, rifle in hand.

"They gunned down old Mister Tanner, Lucas." A familiar face supplied the information from behind a moving curtain. People were scared. If the old, harmless towner had gotten killed, he understood everybody hiding. These must be ruthless people.

"Lucas, oh thank God you're here, they hurt the sheriff, and pulled the old judge from his office!"

Now that piece of intelligence sharpened his senses even more. Micah hurt? And the old judge? Whatever for? This business was more layered than a simple holdup or bar brawl.

A dark-clad figure leaned with deceptive laziness against a corner. Lucas gripped his rifle tighter, and met the glittering eyes.

"Who are you people?"

"Drop the rifle, Mister, or we'll make you drop it. Let us finish our business here, and we'll be out of this town."

Lucas made no move to do as asked. "What is your business here?"

"Oh, a friend of ours is of a mind to take a wife."

"Look, Mister, I was called here by some concerned folks, I'm of a mind to go look for the sheriff."

"The sheriff was mighty tired. He lay down, a while back. Why don't you turn around and come back in maybe an hour or two?"

The stranger exchanged a glance he thought went unnoticed by the rifleman with a companion half-hidden by the next building. Lucas knew the kind of men he was up against. They'd as well shoot him in the back, knowing he would never leave the scene without a fight. It was going to be a question of who pulled the gun faster, and seeing as they had all already drawn their guns…

"Fair warning, mister. This is my town, my friends, and I'm not going to just leave."

A glint to his left – the hidden man would try to outdraw him. Lucas dropped to his knees, pulled the rifle around and pulled the trigger. With a moan, the stranger toppled over. Turning around quickly, Lucas met the first man's gaze. "What's it going to be, stranger?"

He made the wrong move, but Lucas managed to hit his gun-hand, and leave him standing. Angry now, the tall man stood, closed the distance and pulled the stranger around roughly. "You bloody idiots. Where is Miss Schuler? Where is this mate of yours?"

"The saloon."

Now that there was somebody here willing to set things right, familiar faces dared appear at the windows, a few doors opened. But clearly this troupe had frightened the simple people enough to scare them away thoroughly.

"How many more are you?" He had noticed at least two more, who were now invisible… But he remembered where he had seen them, and one face at a window further down from the saloon was motioning helpfully toward a balcony. He'd do well to clean the town centre before he tried to enter the saloon.

What was Eirik up to?

Lucas walked purposefully toward the saloon, keeping to the middle of the road. "Hey there, you on the balcony. Why don't you come down and we see if we can persuade your people in the saloon to settle this peacefully. Nobody else has to die to day."

"We're not the talking type, mister." The voice came from a different place, and there was movement on the balcony. Lucas pulled the rifle around, dropping to the ground once more. The stranger's bullet missed his arm by a hair's breath, and felled the Lucas' first opponent - but the rifle faithfully hit the mark. A black-clad figure toppled from the balustrade. Lucas had the mouth of his gun sighted on the last opponent before that one had turned back from seeing his comrade fall, face still aghast.

"What's it going to be?" even to Lucas himself his voice promised a quick end to the situation.

"Enough, enough, see!" The stranger dropped both his guns into the dust, anger in his features.

"Right then, lead on. No sudden movements." Slowly the tall rifleman walked the other man across the place that seemed impossibly large in instances like this.

It was a strange picture that presented itself in the saloon. There was Miss Schuler, very pale, a strangely dejected expression on her usually so lively features. She brightened a little at Lucas' entry, only to give a hopeless shake of her head. The rifleman took in the other man, who was leaning against the bar carelessly – he seemed drunk. And then there was a dark, still man with white-blond hair standing to the side of the room, guns deceptively leisurely at the ready. His face was expressionless, the glitter in his eyes emotionless.

Lucas frowned. "What's going on here? Miss Schuler?"

"Who are you, then?"

It was the old judge who answered both questions at once. "Lucas McCain. They've got the children." He had an ugly gash over his eyebrow, and cradled his arm against his chest.

Miss Schuler leaned forward. Clearly she had tried this before. "Ned, please don't do this. This is not like you."

"Shut up, woman. Ned knows exactly what he wants, and he's gonna get it." The blond man's voice was soft and ugly. "See Mr. McCain, or whatever your name is, Ned loves this girl here. He wants to marry her. I'm here as his best man. To help him - a good man deserves the wife he wants."

"Seems to me she doesn't want him, otherwise this whole bloody mess would not be necessary."

"That's why we found some incentive for her…"

Where was Eirik? "In the form of…?" Lucas frowned, surprised at the instinctive trust he felt rising at the thought of the young man ghosting through the tense town's streets.

"They've locked the children in the school, Lucas, and two men guarding them. They'll set fire to the house."

"It needs a particularly heartless man to threaten children." Lucas fixed his gaze against the blurred blue eyes of the young man so sickeningly in love with the schoolteacher. "Ned, that's your name, right? Are you certain you want to start your life with a woman like this?"

"She wouldn't consent." The flouting youngster was passably handsome man with sandy hair, his most prominent feature a fleeing chin and weak forehead.

"Enough talk." The blond man interrupted icily from the side. "Judge, get on with it, before I decide to take revenge for my people outside and kill everyone here."

"You forget I have a gun on your man here."

"And I have two guns plus the children… and this old man's wife and daughter." The leer he directed at the young woman frightened her. "Tell them, teacher, who's got the better cards here?"

She turned slightly. "Lucas… "

"Mister, I give you a choice." God, Lucas could begin to hate the emotionless voice any moment. "Either you make your way to the school and rescue the children, but by the time you're back Miss Schuler here will be Mrs. Turner. Or you stand here and threaten my man and delay this wedding, but then I can't be held accountable for the town's youngest and brightest… There is a time-frame on this wedding, see. Flames licking and all that."

The judge swore under his breath, drawing Lucas eyes to him. Miss Schuler stood straighter, and searched her 'betrothed's' glazed eyes: "Ned, please, this is crazy!"

"Shut up, woman. Judge, get on with it. Or the children are roast."

Lucas shuddered at the absolutely emotionless gloating in the young man's eyes. But the blond man to the side was the really dangerous one – the way he not-moved, the way the pale eyes kept the whole room in sight and the easy way he held himself spoke of an experienced gun-man.

"What's in it for you?" the tall rifleman tried to distract his opponent, hoping for more time.

"No, mister, I'll not fall for that. Judge, get on with it. Have I to remind you that you've got a wife and a daughter in town?" His gaze never waivered. It was infuriating how calm, how certain he was.

Slowly, a dejected air to his shoulders, the old man stood straight and moved toward the two young people. Lucas held his breath, a crazy notion sparking defiance: What if he let the wedding take place, save the children, and follow the pair and shoot the bridegroom?

"Ned Turner, will you take this woman as your wedded wife?"

Make Mary a widow before she could be forced to endure the wedding night?

"Aye, you know I will. I love her."

"Miss Mary Schuler, do you consent?"

"I…"

Lucas held his breath, desperate.

"Speak up, woman."

An interruption came from the door. A cool, long-fingered hand gripped Lucas' arm for a short moment.

"It's not consent if you make her afraid to say no."

Lucas managed to breathe again. Micah stood in the half open door, a gash on his cheekbone, and gave his questing glance a short nod. Eirik stepped past him into the room, eyes fixed on the pair at the bar. A glance over his shoulder showed him a pale Cade Dorcas, gun in his hand, countenance almost crazy with desperation. But he stopped outside at Micah's gesture, keeping the open space in view.

The deep voice was ringing out intently: "Ned, is it? Put an end to this before you regret it!"

"I love her."

"Ned, don't listen to this greenhorn!"

"I want her! She liked me, earlier. She'll learn to again. Won't you! You consented! She's just stubborn! I am stubborn, too – I love her!"

"Think back, man. Why do you love her? Is this not exactly why? Her independence, her spirit, her strength, the way she's smarter than you, than most of your friends?"

"What's he planning with that drabble?" The dark-clad man Lucas had dragged in tried to interrupt, but was silenced by the reminder of the rifle in his back.

Eirik ignored the interruption, intent on the half-drunk would-be bridegroom. He still carried that long staff – so utterly unobtrusive that Lucas felt his spirit rise. The boy was quick on his feet, and even quicker in mind…

"That she wants to make something out of herself, something more than be a drunk farmer's beaten wife? Would you destroy everything you admire about her only to have her? You'd have her, like a horse, yes, but you'd have lost everything that made you fall in love with her in the first place." Eirik seemed to be speaking directly and only to the young man who still held the schoolteacher's hands in his white-knuckled grip. "You'd end up with everything you despise, and it would be your own fault. Be a man, and let her go her own path. Might gain a friend in the process."

"Ned…" Miss Schuler's pale face had gained colour and self-assurance.

"Oh bleeding heart." Blond man lifted a gun, his tone exasperated, pointing it at Eirik's head. "Ned, remember what we came for! I'll take care of this one for you."

Lucas shifted his rifle, but his foremost opponent hindered him. Fear for the reckless young man rose, but Eirik read Miss Schuler's face. He half-dropped onto one knee, and in the small space lifted his staff with force, connecting with the other man's hand. The revolver went off, but the bullet went into the far wall. The weapon flew high in a decorative arch.

Eirik caught it, wiping a delighted, surprised grin of his face quickly. But not quickly enough for Micah, who snorted, or for Lucas, who pursed his lips in relief.

"Damn it, youngster, step back! These are men's dealings." The toneless voice had gained intensity. "Who do you imagine yourself to be – with a face like that? You don't even carry a gun! You in love with her, too? Too late, hero! We got the children! You ready to put your name to their deaths?"

Micah took a step forward, exasperated, but still tense. "This is over, give it up already. Enough people have died!"

"No." The blond man lifted his second gun, pointing it at Eirik. "Get out, you softie. Or I'll repay you for that broken wrist."

"Enough!" Lucas was fed up, too. He shifted his gun, pointing it at the obvious leader of this scene. "Drop your gun."

"Oh, he's got a soft spot for the boy? Seems we're at a draw, mister. Who's faster?"

The situation was VERZWICKT. Too many people in this room, and a wrong move would risk Eirik's life. Lucas hesitated – and Eirik reacted, stepping to the side fluidly.

"Mary!" He threw the revolver at the blond woman, who in a quick movement escaped from her would-be-fiancé and caught it, turning it against Ned.

The blond man's pale eyes darted through the room, confused. One shot passed the young man, but his move had drawn the SCHUSsLINIE away from the judge and Mary. The second shot the blond man tried to get off would have been aimed at Lucas, but by then the rifleman had shifted his gun and pushed the black-clad stranger in front of him to the floor. The shot from his rifle rang through the air first, and the blond man stumbled back against the wall with a rather ugly oath, the gun too dropping from his bloodied hand.

A collective breath rushed through the room.

"Eirik, the children!"

"Peace, Mary, they were my first stop. They're at the Sherriff's with the Smith and his wife." Eirik's deep voice conveyed nothing of the tension that was visible in his posture.

"Aye." Micah supplied from where he was bending over the blond stranger. "Eirik slipped in where they had locked me up."

"You did all this, alone?" the woman's gaze on the young man bordered on worship.

Eirik would not have it, though. He shrugged in embarrassment. "No. I found Cade. He helped me."

"Cade?"

"Mary, are you all right?" The youngest of the Dorcas brothers had a weird expression on his face, eyes going from his friend to the woman.

"Oh God, yes. No, leave Ned, he's not worth your anger, Cade, seriously. I'm glad to see you."

"Let's get the Judge to the doctor." Eirik was gently pulling the old man upright. "Sir, lean on me."

"My wife, my daughter!"

"Swenson knew they had a watcher, too. Cade and I took care of him. They're fine."

Lucas held the door open and then helped Micah with the spitting and swearing blond stranger. His own opponent waddled along without a word, clearly shaken and disappointed by the outcome of their endeavour.

Things having settled down after all, Lucas found his farmhand leaning against the back door of the smithy. The broad-shouldered form of his neighbour Zach Valance was intently bent over a bandage on the young man's upper arm.

"Eirik?"

"Lucas."

"What's this?"

"Just a grazing shot, McCain. Nothing to worry."

"Aye. I'm fine."

Valance straightened. "Boy did bloody well. I heard what happened from the smith. Came late for the action. Here, you're all set."

The young man shrugged. "Thanks for that, Mr. Valance." He pulled the torn sleeve down over the bandage – and the long scar that had resulted from the fight with Cade's brothers. Lucas had not noticed it before.

"People are looking for you… You did good, Eirik."

The youngster tried to ignore the praise. "I thought I'd head home, bring Freddy back to town, give Mark the 'coast clear'. They'll be worried."

"Don't let him fool you, McCain. He was pretty shaken up when I found him."

Lucas narrowed his eyes at the young man. "It was a close call in there."

Eirik met his eyes for a split second, hands burrowing into his shirt. "I hate it when children are involved."

"Come. It's over." The rifleman grabbed the other's shoulder and gently pulled him toward the street. Valance followed with his rolling gait.

For once the young man did not pull away at once. "So do we know the why of the whole shenanigans?"

Lucas could feel the tension seeping out of the wiry shoulders under his arm. "Seems Turner made a deal with this guy."

The melodic voice from behind them supplied: "Wanted man, this Llandy, by the way."

"His gang would help him wed Miss Schuler - Ned's the reason Miss Schuler left her last employment."

"I knew that part."

"Ah, that's why you were so eloquent?"

"Mary had been telling me about him. But this Llandy guy?"

Lucas grinned slightly. Eirik was good at distracting from what he did not want to discuss further… the memory of their latest talk this morning came to mind with force. Not the right moment. "Landy would gain a partnership to Turner's mining rights… The boy's got money, but neither character nor manners to go with it."

"Turner wanted Miss Schuler for his wife, and would trade parts of his income for her?"

"Essentially."

"I should have let Cade take his fists to that face."

"Maybe. But you should have seen Cade's face at your tirade. He felt those words keenly, too. I never took you for a suffragist." He said the word with a gentle sneer, but the farmhand answered with dead seriousness in his eyes.

"He's welcome to every word. And yes, I believe in women's rights, I have yet to find somebody to explain to me how there is such a difference to the sexes that a woman's dignity is worth less than a man's, and a woman's mind is less than a man's. I know the boy loves Mary with a vengeance, but he's still so young, and so under the influence of his brothers. He doesn't really know what he's getting himself into, and what devils he might have to face if he manages to…" he stopped, out of breath.

'So young?' Eirik was hardly older than his friend. "…to win her. Eirik, aren't you setting yourself up for hurt? I thought you liked her."

The young man shook his head, reaching for Lucas's horses bridle. "Not like that." He whistled for the dun stallion, and a relieved smile crossed his features when the tall horse bounded around the corner.

Valance took a step to let the tall horse sniff his hand, eyes roaming appreciatively. "Say, what did he say in there, McCain?"

Lucas squared his shoulders. "About how a man in love with Miss Schuler should love her even more for wanting to become more than a drunk farmer's wife."

The burly man's face cracked into a wide grin. "He's quite literate, this farmhand of yours."

Much more so than anybody would ever guess, Lucas reflected soberly. "He had Micah staring. That's why Miss Hattie likes you so well, Eirik. She's all for women's right to vote and that stuff…"

"And you, Lucas?" the deep voice inquired, laced with something indefinable.

The rifleman rubbed his hand over his face, suddenly tired of the subject. "Find me a woman with a reasonable approach to politics. I'm not averse to the idea. The schoolteacher before Miss Schuler handed out pamphlets. Got Miss Hattie on the wagon."

Seemingly satisfied, though his eye still spat fire, the young man turned: "Valance?"

A singularly lascivious grin lit up the handsome face. "Oh, all for it. Believe me. Woman have less problems with the likes of me than men…"

Lucas refused to blush, surprised at the level gaze that passed between the other two.

"One day you'll tell us who you find attractive, Eirik." The glint in his neighbour's eyes told Lucas that Valance was repaying the youngster with the pointed barb. He chuckled.

Swinging onto the horse, the young man gave the tall rifleman one of his rare, wide smiles. "One day maybe. Keep an eye on Ned Turner, Lucas. If he took up with Llandy…"

Lucas grinned at the boy's prudence. "I think he had no idea how dangerous the group was he fell in with. They'd have taken his whole mine from him in no time at all. He's in a cell next to the two others under Micah's watchful eye. Go, tell Mark I'll be along shortly."

Eirik hesitated, an almost childish grin of satisfaction stole it's way into the green eyes. "Did you see how I caught the gun?"

The tall man guffawed with surprised laughter. "Aye. Nice move!"

"I'll see you at the farm, Lucas. Valance."

…


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15 Sulphur springs - planning

"Pa, Pa, you tell me what happened!"

Mark surprised his father when he finally returned to the farm, leaving North Fork settled to it's routine once more.

"Mark! Where's Eirik?"

"He said he'd finish the fence, so you didn't have to worry about the stock."

Lucas frowned, but simultaneously intuition told him why the young man was evading explanations or stories. Taking care of the horse, he told Mark in short sentences what had happened in town, his mind dwelling on Eirik's story of this morning.

Eirik had been in a fire, had watched his family burn. Of course he was upset, and what obviously was the young man's way to deal, he escaped to solitude.

"Let's give Eirik some space, Mark. He proved a cool head today."

"Why would he need space?"

"That's just a saying, Mark. He needs some time alone, I think. Remember when he told you he has no family any more?"

"Aye?"

"Well, I think they died in a fire, not dissimilar to the situation of the schoolchildren today. Say, when you and Freddy climbed out of the window, why didn't the other children follow?"

"We'd been in the other room fetching more chalk for Miss Schuler. We heard them come in, they were not quiet. I got so scared from what I heard…"

"You acted very smart, Mark. And taking care of Freddy, too. Well done, son. I'm just glad Eirik and I were on the lower field… imagine if we'd been on the farm, or even further… It'd have taken you much longer to find us."

The tall rifleman grimaced, pushing his hand gently through his son's hair. "Right, back to…"

"Pa?"

"Yes, son?"

"What about the trip to the sulphur springs? Do you think we'll still do that?"

He had completely forgotten about the trip. "Mark… I'm not certain all the parents will be happy after this scare we had today. And I think Miss Schuler is mighty shaken up…"

"But Pa, it was scheduled exactly so that everything would work out! Cade and Freddy's mum and Pa are coming, you're in Santa Fe, Eirik can watch the farm…"

"Mark, I'm not saying no. But don't get your hopes up."

"But you were set to leave tomorrow!"

"I know. Patience, my boy!"

…

"Why do you always ride off, Eirik?"

"What do you mean, Mark?"

"Because you do! Pa says you need space… but I don't get it, I think."

Lucas, watching the two from where he was saddling Razor once more, smiled. The lanky young man turned to the boy, his face open – amused even.

"Well, don't you too go for a walk to cool off? Or find something for your hands to work off a temper? I'm not good with words, Mark."

"You're good with words. You're always careful with what you say… Not as much so with Pa, though." The boy let himself be side-tracked momentarily.

Eirik's head came up with a start, surprise and embarrassment coming off him in waves. Then he shrugged slightly, bent his head so Mark would not see the slight darkening of his cheeks.

"I rather let other people tell stories."

"Is that why you ride out? Because on the plains there is nobody to talk to?"

"Something like that, my dear boy. Out there… there is no obligation to speak…"

"Obligation… but… you can't owe nobody words, can you?"

"Ah, but sometimes you make yourself feel obligated, no?"

"Maybe… you mean when it would be impolite not to answer a question? Or when the silence gets so heavy you feel the need to say something?" Mark tilted his head thoughtfully. "Or when a person at the table is so uncomfortable you have to rescue him?"

"Exactly." Eirik ruffled the boy's sandy hair. "So sometimes I like to sort my thoughts first before I speak to people."

"And if the question is answered by somebody else in the mean time…"

Eirik laughed, carefree and melodic. "All the better."

Mark chuckled, too. "That sounds like something Tom Sawyer would say. Do you…"

"Yes, I know the books."

"Which did you like best?"

"Huckleberry Finn."

"Really? I like Tom better. He's so cheeky and… why do you like Huck better?"

"Ah, I guess they are adult reasons, Mark. He meets more diverse people, has to contend with nature. The subject of slavery has been of interest to me…"

"I`d like to travel the Mississippi once… Pa!"

Lucas had slowly walked up to them. He grinned at the mirror images of embarrassment on the features of both young men.

"Talking books, are you? You make most erudite company." Predictably, Mark's expression changed to complete incomprehension. Lucas was quite proud of his barb, and noted with a stab of surprise that the farmhand could not hide the curling of his lip. Right, university trained farmhand. He frowned. Too bad time was pressing.

"Eirik, I'll leave Mark in your care and ride into town once more."

"It's getting late, Lucas."

"I got to talk to Micah Torrence. How'd it go with the fence?"

The young man sobered visibly. "Well enough. I'll finish it at first light tomorrow."

"Good man. Though I'll come and help once I'm done in the barn here and Mark's at school. Carry on, you two, just don't let me find you building rafts when I get home."

He extricated a lopsided grin from his farmhand and turned away, pulling his horse along.

"What's e-ru-dite, Eirik?"

….

Not that he expected the young man to wait for him, but it was gratifying all the same to find him asleep at the table, the lamp in safe distance. Lucas had entered soundlessly, and now put a gentle hand to the farmhand's shoulder.

"Eirik."

Startling awake, one hand reached for the knife in his belt, the other for the scarf on his head.

"It's me."

"Lucas. All well?"

The tall man smiled. "Aye. Why are you in here still?"

"Mark had a nightmare, I stayed."

"Too much Mark Twain?"

A chuckle. "I wonder. He has his head full of ideas…"

"I know. Thanks. Get to bed now. You look like an owl."

That earned him a sleepy smile. "Will do. Till tomorrow."

Lucas followed the boy with his gaze. They would have to come to some kind of resolution, and soon. He could not in good conscience keep Eirik working here, and know his background and potential. But Northfork did not offer much for an engineer, except he found work with the railroad company… He'd be loath to loose this friend.

…

Lucas rode into town again, with his son this time, the next morning. He was hoping to discuss this school trip with the other parents.

There was already a group of people gathered before the little schoolhouse, and emotions were somewhat high. The children, in the way young minds are resilient, were all set to take the trip, the sooner the better. The parents were divided. The smith and his wife had agreed to close shop for three days and accompany the group of schoolchildren and Miss Schuler. Cade Dorcas had offered his time and proficiency with guns, to act as a safe-guard… ostensibly, the other adults nodded and acquiesced, knowing full well that the young man was doggedly trying to convince Miss Schuler of his qualities. But Cade had a good hand with the boys, and his friendship with the McCain's counted toward him, too.

"Please, quiet, people, let us settle this." Miss Schuler had stepped up onto the top stair, trying to make herself heard. "Considering the amount of planning that has gone into this trip, Mr. and Mrs. Swenson offering their time, Cade Dorcas too, and the fathers who were set to time their trip to Santa Fe exactly so they would coincide with the boys and girls away… I think especially in light of the fright we all had yesterday, we should rather plunge on and try to cover the memories with something fun and adventurous."

"What if something goes wrong?"

"We have four adults to twelve children. Mr. Swenson can fix most anything that could happen to the wagon. We have food enough for twice the time. The weather promises to be stable for the next week. I think it would be a pity to try and find a similarly convenient time slot."

A half humorous voice rose from he back: "Any more Ned Turner's in your background?"

The blond teacher smiled graciously. "I promise you, Ned Turner was the only unsavoury individual I was unfortunate enough to be acquainted with. And he'll be safely behind bars until we return. The sheriff promised me."

In the end, Lucas put his word in on the teacher's and the children's side, offering: "I could send Eirik Donelly with your, Miss Schuler. A hand more would never be amiss."

"Yes, Pa! That'd be wonderful!"

Miss Hattie, whose nephew's son was with the expectant group, nodded at that. "If that young man joins, I'll rest more easily. If we can't have you yourself, Mr. McCain, Eirik will watch after the children."

"And he's more fun than Cade!" a wise-cracker threw in.

"Aha, I'll tell Cade you said that!"

Of course a few voices got raised about a more experienced man than Eirik Donelly, but they were quieted quickly with remainders of his level-headed reactions the day before, and also after Lucas' accident.

Finally Miss Schuler concluded: "If everybody is agreed on the addition, we'll leave the plans as they were. Packing done tonight, leaving early tomorrow morning."

…

The two McCains found the young man in question just after lunch time in the barn, unloading the little hand wagon the two men had used to get the gear out to the fence.

"Eirik, all done?" Lucas felt sudden guilt at having left the young man alone with the hard work. On the other hand, then the next days could even more easily be given off…

"'t wasn't hardly nothing left," the youngster drawled.

Lucas wasn't given time to explain his absence.

"Hah, I can tell when you're being modest, Eirik!" Mark could not stand still.

"What's got you all excited, Mark?"

By now, Lucas knew this strange, overeducated farmhand of his well enough to know the young man was trying to downplay an inner turmoil. The studied stance, the drawl, the tension in his voice and shoulders spoke volumes. Was he nervous about the subject of their conversations since last morning? That Lucas would take his words amiss? In all truth he was still hoping Eirik had not planned to leave in the wake of his revelation.

"Eirik, I'd like to ask you for something." Lucas began measuredly.

The young man's gaze met his with an expression of such confusion and consternation, Lucas almost laughed out loud. He allowed himself a smile.

"Guess you too forgot I'm due in Santa Fe tomorrow, and was planning to leave tonight for the train."

Eirik's mouth almost fell open. "Completely." He rubbed a hand over his neck. "That was today, true… and Mark…"

"Exactly. The school trip. In light of yesterday's fright, the parents have agreed to let the excursion take place if one more safe-guard goes along. I offered you. Would you agree?"

"Please, please, Eirik, you have to come!"

"Mark, let us discuss this calmly, please."

The boy was almost tugging on the two men's sleeves. "But…"

"For once, I concur, Mark. Give us a moment, if you would."

The boy glanced from one to the other with an impatient expression, but stepped back.

"I thought I would watch the farm."

"It seems your presence is better used with the group going to the sulphur springs."

Lucas found the green eyes searching his face with a quizzical expression. "Is this… Are you… certain?"

Ah, the boy too was thinking about their conversation. "I have not really had time to think through everything you told me, Eirik, but just because I greatly underpay you doesn't change the fact that I trust you with my farm or my son."

For a long while the young man stared at the floor. "I don't hardly know what to say."

"We'll have time when I get back. For now, I'd feel better knowing you're with Mark. Who knows, your special skills could be useful. And you get along with the Swenson's."

A ghost of a smile hushed over the thoughtful face. "All right then."

"We will have to finish that talk, though."

"I know." The young man hid under the brim of his hat.

Was he sorry he had confided in Lucas to the extent that he had?

As if reading his thoughts, Eirik lifted his head. "Thank you."

Now that came out of context. "For what?"

"For trusting me, and for not putting pressure on me. It's gonna come out sooner or later."

Lucas narrowed his eyes at the young man. "Aha?"

Eirik squared his shoulders. Back to his normal self asked: "What do you need for your trip, and what will be expected of me for Mark's trip?"

…


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16 Sulphur springs

Lucas did not know at what point he had become so accustomed to the quiet slender figure that he genuinely missed him when he returned from the stage coach to an empty farm. He was almost used to the awareness of a missing Mark, but Eirik had become a fixture of their life. Lucas had had a lot of time to think over the past day…

The two boys had left the place in perfect condition, even the linen shirts were clean and hung out to dry in the living room. Since it was early evening, a few hours of light left, Lucas re-saddled his mare and took her out on a leisurely trip to check on the stock and the fence. Anything to shake the travel-weariness out of his limbs, and the feeling of unease out of his heart and mind.

Word in town had been that the group of children had left early yesterday morning to excitement and singing and expectation, the Swensons, Cade and Eirik calm islands in what seemed to be a sea of children. Miss Schuler had kept a cool head, and even the sudden breakdown of one of the smaller girls had not fazed the group much. They had left with the little wagon one pupil short, but with huge smiles all around.

Micah had grinned in memory when he'd asked him about it. Ned Turner was still in jail in North Fork, Llandy and his companion shared the next cell. Micah had sent word to San Antonio – the Marshall there would know how to handle the blond man.

….

Lucas had just decided to ride back into town for a warm supper, when he grew aware of a lone rider heading for the river ford at neck breaking speed. He watched the man push the horse unyieldingly through the low water, and head upward…. Toward his farm…

Without hesitation, Lucas spurred his horse to intercept whom he had subconsciously already recognized… Micah Torrence.

Why would the older man ride out here at such speed, such time of day?

"Micah!"

"Lucas." Torrence tried to catch his breath. "Trouble. The children… ride with me."

It did not take the men long to reach town, where most of the population was assembled on the empty space before the saloon. Frantic parents all around were wringing their hands, angry shouts could be heard. Calls for horses, for action, for anything were raised, until Micah stepped into the middle, the tall rifleman beside him. Lucas himself recognized the need for calm and reticence in the face of the riled up group, despite his heart beating in his ears like a thunderstorm. In the middle of the group of people stood smith Swenson, dried blood on the side of his face. Ephraim, his apprentice, was supporting him.

"Mr. Swenson. What happened?" Lucas kept a tight leash on his temper. The townsfolk visibly calmed at his apparent tranquillity, an even greater incentive to hear out the bearded smith.

"We met trouble, Lucas. My wife…" the stoic man shook, face contorting.

"Calm, Swenson, tell us."

"His wife was bleeding still, a gash to her head…"

"Quiet everybody, let the man speak! Swenson, when did this happen?"

"Just after first light. A group of men surrounded the camp. They seemed friendly at first, asked questions, then pulled guns. Cade got shot."

"The children? What happened to the children?" A frantic mother asked what Lucas could not bring himself to voice.

"They made the children get on the wagon, already put behind one of the horses. My wife…"

"What happened to your wife?"

"She tried to … appeal to the leader, to hold on to Freddy. He… God, he hit her over the head with his gun."

"Hit you too when to you tried to help her?" Lucas threw in with deceptive calm.

"Aye. They held me down…"

"The children?!" A woman fainted.

"Go on, Swenson."

"They left with Miss Schuler and the children on the wagon. Left us one horse, and the instruction…" the older man seemed to break.

"What instructions, Swenson?"

"Five thousand gold pieces, or we'll never see the children again."

Silence ensued. That was an impossibly large sum to come up with for any family out here.

It was the banker, Hamilton, who interrupted the quiet with toneless words.

"They knew about the coach."

"What? What's there to know?"

"Lucas, you rode in with the coach, no?"

Damn it, it was true. There had been another man with him on the coach, a quiet fellow with alert eyes. Lucas had pegged him a gun-man, but not exchanged more than a few words with him. He had carried a small suitcase – with him, not on top of the coach as was usually done.

Gall rising in his throat, the tall rifleman bit his lip. "Let me guess, you've got five thousand lying in the safe right now."

Hamilton nodded. "Not my money, though. It's for the fort."

Lucas made an effort to push the conflicting emotions to the far back of his mind. "Swenson – what about Miss Schuler, and Cade and Eirik?"

"Cade got shot – he went for his guns. Eirik had gone fishing, and returned only when everything was over. He put me and Lucy on the horse and sent us to get help. Lucy…"

Micah reached out to steady the smith. "Doc's taking good care of her."

"I need to see her." The burly man pushed through the group of people and stormed to the Doctor's door.

"Micah." Lucas pulled the old sheriff to the side. "Help me." He raised his voice. "People! I'm heading out to the campsite now, expect to reach it in a few hours. Anybody recon he's a better tracker than me?" Sam Buckhart came to mind, but heavens knew where his friend was right now.

"No, Lucas, you're the best."

"Those men that know the area and how to handle a gun: raise what money you can quickly and come after me. Hamilton, we'll need that suitcase. Micah handles my money, he has my trust."

"Lucas, we can't raise that kind of money!"

"We don't have to. A distraction is all that's necessary. I'll get on their trail and leave word whatever way I manage."

"Lucas boy…"

"Micah, they have Mark." Lucas trusted his old friend to understand that he'd rob the bank himself to free his boy.

…

Lucas rode into the sunset like he had ridden only few other times, the fear for his son the single only thing on his mind. He was not scared to lose the way, he knew the path to the sulphur springs, and knew where Miss Schuler had planned to set up the tents for the children. Time flew, or crept, he could not tell which. Barely able to keep from forcing the horse to a speed that would ruin her, he tried to calm his mind to a sensible pace.

The last light left the countryside, and he reached the entrance to the valley that would lead him to the clearing. Lucas jumped off Razor, heart pounding in his ears. He'd managed the worst, now it was time for a clear head. He hobbled the horse under a group of trees and crept on alone. It seemed a long, long path through the dark trees, several times he thought he might have missed the way, but in the end he found the clearing… the tents scattered, the left-overs from the fires set at sensible intervals… but only one of them glowing. And one single figure hunched over under a tree.

"Eirik?" Fear gripped him – if the young man sat there, everything was lost. But no, the silhouette was wrong…

"McCain?"

"Cade!" Lucas knelt down beside the young man. "Swenson said you got shot! Where's Donnelly?"

"Shot to the shoulder, lucky. Hurt my ankle trying to fight. Mr. McCain…"

"Let me see. How bad?"

"Nah, Eirik took care of it, should be fine. But…"

"But what? Spit it out already!" What had happened here?

"He… I saw him! When they pulled their guns on us, he hid behind the trees, and when they had left, a while later, he appeared. Said he could not follow them any more. Put the Swensons on the only horse we had! Then he took care of my wound and left!"

"Left where?"

"I have no idea. Said that somebody would come. That the smith would get help. He said he had a trail to follow… only-"

"What are you saying?"

"He didn't look like he had a plan. He looked scared. He'd been hiding. McCain, what if he…"

 _What if he is a coward?_

Lucas refused to let the avalanche that threatened to overcome him gain momentum.

"Cade, point me into the direction they took the wagon. Trail should be manageable even in this…"

"McCain, it's pitch black. There's no moon." It was true, a thin film of clouds covered even the milky-way's dim light.

"No, I refuse to stay here and wait."

"There is something else."

"What?"

"We followed the path yesterday, after we arrived, just to get a feeling for the valley. Give the kids a chance to stretch their legs. Steep sided ravine. And this morning, after they'd all left, even Eirik… There was a noise, like thunder… a huge cloud of dust rose over the trees, even so I could see it. The earth shook."

The young man swallowed over the despair in his voice. Lucas fell back in horror.

"A rockslide?"

"I fear so. He could not have followed a trail…"

Without another word the rifleman stood and headed for where he remembered the path into the valley leading. He walked desperately, unseeingly, for an hour or more, until he reached an unstable field of loose rocks. He could even smell the upturned earth and stones, the dust barely settled, the way it cloaked his tongue with the taste of iron. A vulture cried somewhere.

A scream of anguish, of terror and pure wrath tore loose from his throat, but with it, he gained some of his countenance.

He could not see enough, nor feel his way through this rocky field. And if the slopes were as steep as they seemed in the near darkness, then another slide could follow any moment. Much as he hated his voice of reason in this moment, there was nothing he could do but turn back.

Wait for morning.

Cade Dorcas's pale face registered relief when the tall man reappeared on the clearing. Lucas stacked the fire, and sat beside the young man without words.

Finally he ground out: "We've got to wait until the others come. Maybe even ride to the Fort, ask for help. But wait till the morning. Sleep. You're hurt."

The young man took a breath to say something, but Lucas held up a hand, unwilling to prolong the conversation further. While Cade settled down to try catching a few hours of sleep, Lucas walked down and fetched his tired mare.

At some stage even he had given in to what his body was telling him – that he would need every ounce of strength the following days. Lucas slept a few short hours before he startled awake at the first light of dawn. But the increasing light only proved to him what his instincts had told him in the darkness. There was no path, no safe way to ingress into the valley. The trail from the wagon stopped short under a wall of loose rocks. Nothing was visible under the wide, sparse flood of raw stone and earth. Vultures would turn up with the rising sun. The tall rifleman stood at the border of the avalanche and searched the dusty horizon, searched for anything, a different path, a glimmer of hope, anything.

Lucas turned back, re-joined the wretched Cade at the campsite, and began to search the clearing systematically. The trails and traces left here corroborated Swenson's and Cade's story. The young man wanted to hear what the plan was, but Lucas was unable to give him hope – he didn't have any to give.

Finally he found the only unshod imprints on the dry earth, and followed them… but they lead out of the valley, the way he had come! Disbelieving, Lucas followed them for a while, until there was no way he could refuse their evidence. Eirik had left the valley… but why? Why would the man run? What from? From memories? From inner demons?

Lucas shook his head, hand running over the stubble on his cheeks. Staring out over the widening countryside, a thought slowly took form. He knew the mountains around here only a little, but with more men, things were possible…

With renewed energy, the rifleman returned to the camp site and sat down beside the distraught young man.

"Cade, tell me exactly what you saw on this first trip of yours. How deep into the valley did you get?"

It took them another two hours of seemingly aimless waiting and forming of a plan until finally the group of men from North Fork arrived, Micah among them. Lucas did not give them time to focus on the hopelessness of the situation but with almost brutal efficiency gave out orders. Search parties were formed, divided, and sent out, with clear signals decided on.

They agreed to return and regroup if nothing helpful was found, or send back an emissary for the rest of the teams if a lead turned up.

To the utter despair of the assembled fathers, nothing turned up. No sensible path could be found through the rockslide, no signs of life, no clothes, no group of vultures over a body.

"We've got to face it, they're all buried somewhere under the rocks, never to be found."

"I refuse to believe that!"

"What if they got through before the rockslide happened? Then they might be on their way back to North Fork to get their money! What are we still doing here?"

"We are not giving in this quickly." Lucas ground out. "Look here, this is a raw map of the surroundings. What we haven't tried yet is to climb higher on this side. From where I stood it looked as if there might be a way to cross over the spot where the rockslide originated, and gain entrance to the inner valley, where the springs are."

"You think they'd still hide in there? They must have heard the noise, too. They'd be trying to find a way out again."

"Who's been to the springs lately? Is there a path to one of the other valleys?"

The men shrugged helplessly.

Before he lost the group, Lucas tried again: "Give me one more day. I'll scout out the path I am proposing, and those of you who want to leave can go. But those who will not yet give up can give it another try tomorrow at first light."

Reassured by the hopeful faces, and Micah's confident nod, Lucas turned and headed back toward the site of the rockslide, toward the one side of the valley he had in mind.

When the sun sank behind the horizon for the second time since his world had been shaken so badly, the rifleman turned back. He knew what he was going to try tomorrow, and he knew how to sell it to the men in camp. There was a reasonable chance to pass over the rocky field and into the valley, and on the way they'd have a view toward the valley's end, it's sides and maybe a pass into the next one. There was a milder, less steep valley to the east, he dimly remembered. It led out toward the plains, too, meeting the sulphur valley maybe an hour down from their campsite.

Mark… what was the boy going through at the moment? There was no question that his son was alive. He would not even touch any other possibility. His thoughts returned to his farmhand. Indescribable fury rose. After everything the young man had accomplished – Lucas' accident, the crazy abduction of the school teacher, the fight with the Dorcas brothers – how could he ride off now? He'd saved a child before! How could he leave Mark's fate to… to what? To chance? Had he given up on the boy? Lucas had trusted him, had trusted his own sense of the young man, had trusted their friendship! Nothing in the world could make him forgive Eirik this betrayal. Nothing could legitimate the young man's conduct…

The inescapability of the situation hit Lucas, despair threatened to overcome him. He let it fuel his anger instead. If he could not get Mark back, he could at least…

A pale, lanky figure appeared between the trees in front of him. The clearing was just a few hundred yards down the path. The thankless winds only now cleared the sky so much that in the empty space between the dark firs the dim light showed him clearly what his first impression had already told him.

"Eirik?"

"Lucas!" Dirt covered every inch of the young man. The scarf on his head seemed the same colour as his skin. The boy's voice carried… relief, exhaustion… elation.

That elation was what made the tall man explode finally. He did not know what words came out of his mouth, only registered the way the young man staggered backwards.

 _"You're a coward, worse than a coward! I left my son in your care! If I see you again, you're dead!"_

The harsh words left Lucas feeling empty and bereft of satisfaction. Eirik had turned and vanished into the darkness without another word.

The tall man gave in to the desperation that made his knees shake and sank to the mossy floor.

….


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17 Sulphur springs - finale

His mind was playing tricks on him.

"Pa!"

A smaller figure hurtled through the dark forest, followed by the solid, reassuring silhouette of Micah Torrence.

"Pa!" The apparition threw itself into his arms, buried a small, warm, moist face against his cheek. Wrapped wiry arms around his throat.

A raw sound escaped his lips, and Lucas closed his arms around his son. He was not ashamed of the tears running down his face. It took him a long time until he managed to believe his senses, until he was satisfied that the boy was unhurt, solid, warm and – laughing with relief.

"Mark!"

Micah stepped slowly closer from where he had silently stood guard over their reunion. "They're all back, safe and sound. Nobody's hurt, though they're a bit shaken. We daren't stay, Lucas, consensus is to ride home through the night."

"How? How long…?" Lucas had to clear his throat twice, unable to form words.

"Only just now, Pa, I came to find you."

Lucas managed to regain his feet, Mark's hand tight and safe in his large paw. Together the three made their way toward the campsite, which was crowded by fathers with children, and a surprising amount of horses.

"How? Mark?" Lucas would have grinned at his inability to speak, had the subject not been so dire.

"Eirik, Pa! Didn't he tell you? I thought he went to look for you?"

"Eirik?" The name chafed. It galled to say it out loud.

"Yes, Pa!" Mark pulled at his father's hand until the tall man knelt down and focused wild eyes on his son. "Eirik knew where to go, he followed where they took us. He climbed in through a window. He stole the horses, had us saddle up two together, Miss Schuler rode with Ellie, who had hurt her ankle. He even had water and food for us."

Hands still running over his boy's solid form, Lucas had trouble following the boy's story.

"Lucas, we are leaving. Where is that farmhand of yours? He should know about being followed."

"No, Pa, they can't follow us, they have no horses!"

Miss Schuler extricated herself from Cade's embrace and stepped up to the men. "Eirik told me we have taken all the horses there were. Even so, I would be happy to ride home, however long it may take us. Some of the smaller children managed to sleep on the way out here, and I think the older ones can manage. Right?"

"Yes, Miss Schuler!" The chorus was surprisingly energetic. Laughter could be heard.

"We managed to make the trip a bit of a game. See who of the older ones could ride so calmly that the younger ones slept. We had food and water and… the upper hand after the fright."

"Explain, please." Lucas throat hurt.

The young woman glanced around, until she found the make-shift map the rifleman and his search parties had crudely painted earlier.

"Mark, what did Eirik tell you? Come, together we should manage this."

"Wait until we're well under way, Miss Schuler." Micah had the situation in hand.

Soon the group had left the clearing behind.

Lucas had one hand wrapped securely around his boy, and pushed his mare beside the one carrying Miss Schuler. He needed to hear all sides of this story.

It turned out the farmhand had indeed gone fishing in the morning, and returned just to see the strangers draw guns. He had witnessed the attack on the Swenson-couple, Cade's futile attempt and the children herded onto the wagon and away. He had followed the abductors to the border of the forest, where he would loose cover. During the trip that followed he must have heard enough to orient himself – the men were planning to use a pass at the head of the valley to cross over into the next one. Eirik had turned back, unable to follow the group unnoticed through the tree-less, empty ravine. The children described the rockslide as a scary, loud noise and horrid smell, but it did not endanger them. Though it crushed the wagon under it – the children had been taken onto the horses of the abductors.

Miss Schuler's expression at times spoke of untold horrors, but she did not speak up. It had been a difficult trip, up the steep side of the valley to a pass overlooking the scenery, and down into another, gentler valley until they reached a hollow where two decrepit buildings stood beside a little spring.

At the settling of solid darkness, the men locked the group into an empty barn and put a guard in front of the door. The young teacher had managed to make the children sleep then. She estimated three hours had passed before a noise alerted her. The way her hand cramped around Cade's spoke of the horror she had endured, until the creature that so scared them revealed himself to be their saviour. Eirik had explained how they had to be very quiet – he could not be absolutely certain he had gotten all the kidnappers, because of some confusion. The young man had led the small group away from the two houses to where the small herd of horses waited, saddled and all, and bade them mount. All but one child settled, Eirik mounted little Freddy on his back, wrapped the first horse's bridle around his wrist, and led them down and out the valley at what speed he deemed safe. He had explained that he had knocked the two guards unconscious, and locked the other men – sleeping - into the second barn. They would eventually manage to get out of the building, Eirik had not dared set it aflame, scared of the possibility of a forest fire.

Thoughts were crashing in Lucas' mind, horribly interweaving and robbing him of his breath. Eirik carried no guns… never had. He did not know if the young man even knew to handle one…

"Pa?"

"Yes, son?"

"Eirik is hurt."

"What do you mean?"

"We made a short pause when we crossed a brook, because he tried to clean a wound in his side."

"Miss Schuler?"

"Aye. He said he got stabbed while fighting our guard. He would not let me help him, afraid of scaring the children. Downplayed the whole thing. I'm no doctor, but it was bleeding freely, and looked…" she grimaced.

"Pa, it looked worse than when he got cut by Cade's brother. Like that bullet wound you got just after we settled on the farm."

Lucas tightened his grip on his boy.

"Pa?"

"Yes, Mark?"

"Where is he?"

"I don't know, Mark."

"Spirit was waiting for him at the mouth of the valley. He said he'd sent him away to make a false trail in case there were more kidnappers. How smart must that stallion be to know where to find his master? A horse is no dog, right Pa?"

"Right, son. But I've heard stories about those half-wild native breeds. Spirit probably turned back after a while, and maybe heard you coming down through the forest."

"That's a good explanation." Mark was satisfied for the moment.

"Pa?"

"Yes, son?"

"Remember when I was little, when I got scared, you always made me imagine I was playing a game with you? And only after you would explain how the situation had been dangerous?"

"Yes, Mark."

"Eirik did the same with Freddy and Ellie. Made them laugh, even. Miss Schuler helped, too, of course."

"Of course."

"Mark?"

"Yes, Pa?" the boy's voice was sleepy.

"I might have to leave you with Micah once we reach town."

"Going to look for Eirik?"

"Yes."

"All right, Pa. But be careful!"

"Cade will make his brother ride to the Fort, ask for a contingent of soldiers to keep the town safe until that stupid money is on it's way."

"Money? The men wanted money?"

"Yes. There was a gun man who rode with me on the Coach with five thousand gold pieces."

"Wow. That's a lot of money. Would you have paid that much, Pa?"

"I would have robbed that bank if need be, Mark."

"Cool." The boy almost slept.

"Micah, I'm leaving Mark with you."

"What happened in that forest between you two?" The older man knew something had passed.

"Ugly words, Micah, words not easily forgiven. And if he's hurt, I owe him…"

"Hurt? How?"  
"A knife wound, Miss Schuler said."

"Can't have been too bad. He carried the child down, after the day and night he'd had…" Mica pursed his lips. "At least take a fresh horse, Lucas, your mare is done for."

"Here, McCain." It was Zachary Valance.

"Mr. Valance!" the two men turned.

"I came down to lend a hand wherever possible. Take Pinto, he's fresh and itching for a good ride. He's closest to your size. Blankets, some bandages, water and jerky in the bags."

"I'm not going to argue with you for politeness' sake, Mr. Valance. Thank you." Lucas reached for the large, dappled mare's head. "Let me say goodbye to Mark."

The boy was standing close by with tired, adult eyes and wordlessly grasped his father around the middle.

"Mark…"

"I understand, Pa. You have to find him, after everything he did. I'll be waiting for you both. You don't have to worry about me."

God, this boy. "And I don't want you to worry about us. I'll bring Eirik home, I promise."

Both summoned a brave smile, then Lucas kissed his son's forehead and swung into the saddle.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN** : Thank you all so much for the kind reviews, please keep it up - they make my day! This chapter now... here goes nothing... Do you guys get nervous posting something?

Chapter 18 Aftermath

By the time he hit the wide valley floor, the moon had just risen above the horizon, and he could give the horse the reign, letting the animal's instinct set the speed.

At first light he found where their tracks from last evening came out of the valley, and almost instantly where the single unshod trail emerged at a right angle to where he'd come from. Lucas followed Eirik's trail, always alert for the scenery and possible dangers. But the countryside was untouched. The trail led up a gentle slope for a long, long time. Sometimes he feared he had lost it, only to find traces of freshly upturned earth. Into rocky territory he came, until Lucas found himself almost under an overhang, leading him toward two distinct cliffs whose silhouette he recognised. These were the marks left north on the horizon when heading for San Antonio. He'd never been up here. The wind had picked up sharply, and with it brought rain. Lucas knew the weather could change quickly north of the wide plain, and grimaced sharply. He'd have to find… His searching gaze caught on a long, narrow split in the raw cliff side, and a pale movement at its base. Spirit.

The dun stallion stood defensively until he recognized the human's smell, then he whinnied to welcome the newcomers. Lucas jumped off the piebald, startled at the dun's bridle-less state. The broad blanket was thrown over his back carelessly. The tall rifleman patted the horse who nosed him gently. "Where's your master, Spirit? Where's Eirik?"

The faint smell of a dying fire reached his nose, and the rifleman pushed on. The narrow split he had noticed transformed into a slim cave. The entrance was barely high enough for him to step inside upright, but widened toward its interior. He found the remains of the fire.

Besides it, crumpled, the motionless body of his farmhand.

One step brought the rifleman to the side of the silent figure, turned him around gently. He did not have to look for a wound, the large patch of fabric still wet with dark blood on the upper side of Eirik's belly spoke volumes.

Lucas cursed then, cursed his temper, the fact that he had ridden out alone, that they were so far from help. He fetched the saddle from the piebald, and Eirik's contraption of saddle bags from where they had been discarded near the cave entrance. The large blanket he stole unflinchingly from the stallion, and spread it on the cave floor. Valance's saddlebags held a spread of thick sheep-skins. Lucas lay that onto the blanket, gently rolled the life-less young man on top and set to work. Eirik had managed to collect a few thorny branches, and what stalks were left Lucas threw onto the coals. He remembered having passed a brook not much earlier, so used up all his water to clean the youngster's side until he could see the wound. At least the profound bleeding would have cleaned it, the rifleman hoped. Valance's package proved well sorted. Lucas knew more than a little about wounds, knife wounds in particular. He did his best with what he had.

Finally, the most glaring problem taken care of, the tall man sat back on his heels. The patient had not moved once during the last half hour. Eirik's face was bloodlessly white as a blanket but for an ugly dark welt spreading down from his eye. The boy's shirt was wet where it was not soaked with blood, and under the ugly gashes in the fabric makeshift bandage tissue could be seen. The ugly remnants of the fighting darkened the light skin in patches. Doc could check for broken ribs back in town. The rifleman put his knife under the cloth and cut through it, then made to gently pull it over the youngster's head. He threw it toward the fire, reaching for the grizzly fur in the same movement. He turned back to the patient, thoughts already planning ahead.

Lucas reeled back from the sight presenting itself to him. Pulling the destroyed shirt and several pieces of tissue over the patient's head had dislodged the dust-streaked scarf Eirik – Eirik? – had still worn over his head.

A flood of dark, lightly curled hair burst out in all directions over a deep widow's peak, covering the makeshift pillow. Remnants of a braid could be guessed at, but the adventures of the last days and the flight to the cave had destroyed that.

But what shocked the tall rifleman more – or less, he could not analyse his reaction - were smallish, white, but definitely female breasts above the narrow waist he had inadvertently laid bare by his well-meant actions.

Lucas pulled the blanket and the fur up to the – young woman's? what the hell? – neck with shaking hands.

Strangely, the emotions cursing through him were less of shock and anger, but more of a disbelieving quality. Hotly he remembered the moment after this farmhand of his had helped him fixing the fence – the day of that ridiculous abduction of the schoolteacher. Eirik – for the sake of his sanity he would keep thinking of the creature before him as Eirik, until she woke and could explain herself – _she_ had definitely tried to tell him something of utter importance… he could see the scene before his eyes.

He stepped to the cave's opening and gazed out into the rain unseeing, thoughts a blur. It took him a long moment to settle his queasy stomach and take stock. For an instant he was almost tempted to jump onto his horse's back and ride, ride for town, for people, to clear his head.

The bandages had had a different application…

Her skin tone was just one step darker than his own, different in shade… _the irish is strongest in my looks._ He pushed both hands through his hair.

Darkness had fallen without him noticing. He took his water container and stalked to the brook he remembered, picking up what flammable material presented itself on the way.

The horses had found a dry spot under the overhanging rocks, and nibbled on the lichen.

Stacking the fire eased his nerves with the well-practised moves of every day and finally Lucas sat against the wall, eyes pulled inexorably to the pale immobile face. There was nothing left to do but wait for dawn, for the storm to settle and the young woman to wake.

She – he – He was going to go insane with this! She had lied to him for almost a whole year!

What in God's name would make a woman take this course of action? She had worked side by side with him for a year, slept in his barn, ate his food… he had trusted her with Mark, with his farm, with his life – he owed her his life, and Mark's life to boot! What about the things she had told him about herself? Women were not allowed at university – how could she be an engineer? How much of her story had been a lie? How should he ever combine the straightforward, trustworthy if too quiet young man he had grown so fond of with the picture presenting itself? She had accomplished tasks few women he knew would know to face, even less master…

Slowly, his churning brain gave over control to his exhausted body and he slipped into a light slumber, pictures and impressions playing incessantly behind his lids.

He woke abruptly to a choked sound, his mind taking a moment to settle. The young woman was tossing in her sleep, the pale face a grimace of pain and horror. Her lips were trying to form words, but no sound came – only a choked cough now and then, tearing at Lucas' composure. This was pure torture, whatever the young woman was dreaming, and him watching. He reached for her face hesitantly, and found it burning hot. The patient startled at the touch.

McCain moistened a piece of the left-over tissue from his water bottle and started to place it onto her forehead, only to have 'Eirik' pull back violently. She even raised directionless hands trying to ward herself against the touch.

"Gently, calm down…" God, he could not use the name, not when he knew… But then two scenes came to him, while he caught the hot wrists in his suddenly overlarge hands.

One – Sam Buckhart had said: " _The girl vanished._ " And two… The farmhand himself had started telling him about a sister… a twin sister. Had started to say a name… _Em-_ …

Clasping the weakly fighting hands tightly against his chest, he cupped his fingers gently around her burning face. Touching _her_ knowingly sent a tingling down his arm.

"Tell me your name."

He wouldn't mind her waking up entirely, but she was lost to the fever. The hot, fragile head tried to shake, but Lucas bent deeper. "Then tell me your sister's name." That stilled the creature, the dark brows twitched, the eyes rolled wildly under the almost translucent lids. "Tell me her name." His voice shivered a little with the intensity behind the words.

And it worked. Her eyes opened a little, unfocused, tragic.

"Emery… I was… Emery."

"Then settle, Emery, sleep, you're safe."

"Mark… the children."

Oh good Lord, Mark. "Mark is fine, the children are all fine…" You saved them. Lucas had to swallow. That stupid temper of his.

The girl seemed to calm down a little, her eyes closed again. Though her breath was still laboured.

McCain sat back breathing heavily himself, stacking the fire with shaking hands. Warmth and light.

Emery. It fit the long curls, the fragile woman's body hidden under the wide farmer's clothes. How blind had he been? How could this have gone unnoticed for so long? He had treated Eirik/Emery like a man – they had worked, laughed, laboured beside each other, must have touched a hundred times…

But no. Eirik had been so very reticent in the beginning, and even lately, so careful about touching. – Aside from his accident, the young man had never instigated touch, and instinctively Lucas had refrained from more than maybe a hand to a shoulder. He remembered that weird realisation of bandages under the young man's shirt, but had forgotten about them when Mark declined any notion of an injury. Bandages… it made sense. She had… Lucas felt heat creeping up his cheeks. She had tied down her breasts, but after being hurt – and alone – had used the bandages for the wound.

A hundred small things fell into place – the first time they met, Eirik's reaction to the tall rifleman – that had been a purely female reaction. That had been Emery, Lucas nodded with a grimace. But after that initial moment of surprise, the only tell-tale signs were the sometimes studied stance, the mannerisms that seemed acquired, not natural, the way the young woman knew to keep her hands busy, always busy, because her hands would betray her. Thinking back now… she'd developed a lot of sneaky ways to hide her hands… Her reaction to their neighbour's unwelcome advance was even more understandable now – how scared must she have been, how close exposure of her secret.

Her expression after she had found him on the floor… the efforts of a poker face. Lucas smiled bitterly in memory. But then… how strong was this girl, in body and even more so in mind, to not only stand up to him, physically, but to tell her mind, and yet shield his boy… what had he done? Who had he let into his home, his family, and yes… his heart? He had considered Eirik a friend… a good friend! they had even talked about Margaret!

Lucas buried his head in his hands, suppressing a groan of frustration and rage.

Had Sam Buckhart known? Why had the native lawyer not said anything? How could he have kept the girl's secret? How could he have… oh Lord, how could he have sewn her arm, and treated her not much different than he would have treated Lucas himself?

That conversation with the native woman, Florence – the way "Eirik" had blushed, answering with the French version of a short "No."… Florence must have guessed something of the illusion.

How could she have kept the stupid head-scarf in place all the time? Mark or Lucas had surprised their farmhand from sleep now and then, but never had there been a moment that had either suspicious! How had she kept herself clean? What about the way a woman's body worked differently from a man's… the monthlies? He had been married for almost seven years, he knew about women… But it was true, he had never seen 'Eirik' take a piss, the 'boy' had always taken care to be far out of sight. Lucas had notched it up with his natural reticence and respected him. Never seen him with his shirt off… never thought it suspicious, either…

He had been in _her_ company shirtless many times…

And no, he would not think about the broken hearts this revelation would result in downtown, nor the friendships shaken to the ground. Cade… Miss Schuler? Lord, what would he tell Micah?

He dozed off in the middle of his considerations, vivid dreams of the search for Mark and the children, of Eirik's shadowy figure always just out of sight, of the mountain lion's black outline above him, his claws burrowing into his shoulder.

Woken by a cold draft, Lucas realised he had fallen into deeper slumber.

The fire had almost died down, the air in the cave was cold. Quickly he stood and fed the flames. Exchanged a few friendly words with the horses, who had lifted their heads curiously at his approach. Spirit approached him with a nudge, and Lucas rubbed his hands over the proud face. "Calm, you ghost, I'm trying to take care of her. How come you did not tell us? You did not have to keep that secret!"

It felt nice to talk to somebody, even be it a stallion. How long could a single night be?

A quiet moan from the bedstead called to his attention – Spirit whinnied in reply, tried to force his way into the cave. "No, big guy, stay out here. I'll see to your mistress."

Lucas returned to the young woman's side, and gently cradled the out-flung hand in his paws. Her skin was ice cold, but her forehead was burning, even hotter than before if possible. The pulse in her wrist was racing.

"Eh, young woman, if we are to get you through this, you have to keep fighting, hear me?" Lucas reached for the wet cloth, found his stomach contracting. "Emery, listen to me. You can't die on me now! Not when I'm so furious, so angry..." So stranded. So full of questions.

The young woman moved a little under his hand, the cold fingers twitched. So Lucas kept talking.

"I owe you an apology, but you owe me more than that. And I guess I owe you more than that. Mark would be heartbroken if you died on us now!" He did not know how the boy would react to these weird news, bloody hell, how would anybody react to these news? He could imagine Miss Hattie's brows knitting together, her mouth pinch in a displeased expression.

"Let me check on the wound." But then he remembered that she wasn't wearing anything under that blanket and the grizzly fur…

Quickly Lucas fetched 'Eirik's' last remaining shirt, the supple leather one with the criss-cross at the throat, and gently clothed the almost boneless girl. That done, he focused on the wound in her side. There was inflammation, of course, but no fresh blood. He had no idea how long she'd lain there unconscious with the fire dying beside her before he had entered the cave… He'd have to get her to the house, to the doctor.

"And what am I going to tell him? Listen, I'm going to move you to lay on your side so juices can flow out of your wound." Gently he rolled her around, forming a pillow to support her against her back. Was she breathing easier?

Watching the lifeless pale face thoughtfully, Lucas felt anger rising in him. Whatever had made this young woman lie to him for a full year, work beside him like a man… he would get to the bottom of it. Leaning back against the wall, he let himself drift off again. But his mind would not quiet down, showing him scenes from the saloon where Ned had tried to force Miss Schuler to agree to marry him. Eirik entering with Micah in tow, the Sheriff's eyes a little blurry after the blow he'd gotten. The quietly intense words that had mad many a man shuffle around in embarrassment.

"Lucas."

He startled awake, rubbing his eyes. The girl was tossing and turning again, if an improvement from the lifeless fever before he could not rightly say. Reaching out to replace the wet cloth, he froze.

"Lucas…"

The sound of her voice was the same he was used to, distractingly so… infuriatingly so. But the emotions carried with it were of pure torture, of a pain so deep the tall rifleman felt his brows furrow. What had he done…

Then he remembered the expression of 'Eirik's' dirty, but glowing face.

 _"Lucas."_

 _"Where have you been? How could you leave Cade like that? What about the children, what about Mark? I don't want to lay eyes on you ever, hear me!"_

 _The young man standing in front of him was growing ashy under his layer of dirt. The green eyes took on an expression of childish bewilderment that infuriated Lucas even more. It took every ounce of his self-control not to lift a hand against the young man. His fingers gripped his rifle until he lost all feeling in them._

 _"Go! You're a coward, worse than a coward. I left my son in your care!"_

 _The young man had turned without another word, his face closing, but not fast enough… not fast enough…_

"Ei – Emery… don't. I'm real sorry for what I said. You saved those kids, you got Mark home safe and sound. I should've learned to keep my temper in check by now. I should have trusted in you." His tongue was heavy – how could he offer her trust?

But his words did not seem to reach the young woman. She was tossing and turning, biting her lip until blood came, fighting Lucas' efforts to keep her calm. Finally the tall man dropped the cloth and bent over her, cupping one cheek and her shoulder in his hands. He raised his voice: "Emery. Stop. You're going to reopen the wound. Calm down, you need to rest."

Her eyes flew open then, unfocused and wild.

"Emery." This was unreal, calling the so well-known eyes to him by a strange name, and still…

The green eyes, dark now like feverish marbles, found focus then, settled on returning his intent gaze. The rifleman shook with a sudden memory.

"Lucas." It was less than a croak, but it seemed to calm the young woman. One cold hand curled around his wrist.

"Yes, its me. You're safe. I'll get you to the doctor as soon as light is up."

A question seemed to rise into her face, though he could see the effort it took for her to hold on to reality. "Mark?"

"Mark is at home with Micah. He's fine." Guessing the direction of her thoughts, he added: "Spirit's waiting outside. He's fine, too. You need to rest now, to get better."

Her brows snaked together in an almost childish fashion, eyes wildly roaming over his face. But Lucas ran his thumbs gently over her brows, straightening them, and then over her heavy lids for good measure. "Sleep."

The young woman gave in, calm on her features now. Ah, he had forgotten to offer her more water – but she'd drink later. Lucas was suddenly more confident.

... But that memory… He'd seen _her_ once, Eirik without the scarf covering his hair. The accident… he had the clear and undoubted memory of the heart shaped face, dusty and sweaty, the green eyes wide with terror, and the brown hair loosely gathered at the nape of her neck, the soft curls billowing out around her face… He had lost that memory in the aftermath, but the moment just now… That widow's peak, always hidden under the nondescript scarf… it changed her face.

Pulling his hand gently out of the cold fingers still curled tightly around it, he sat behind the young woman and carefully gathered the surprisingly silken strands together, braiding them into a heavy rope.

 _"Must have been quite a sight, you thrown over my shoulders, knuckles and toes trailing. I owe you for those shoes."_

The laughter over the music, Mark's face at the guitar, … how much of it had been true? How much could be faked, and for what reason? How could he hold on to anger, when the first word out of the fever-addled mind of this creature had been his, and his boy's name? Why had she deceived them?

 _"I never meant to stay."_

Lucas rubbed his hands through his hair in frustration.

" _I guess it was a confluence of circumstances._ "

Well, it would have to wait till morning. Lucas began to gather their things together, too wound up to give into sleep once more. But the young woman had other plans. He returned from checking on horses and weather to find her shaking like a leaf, arms cramped close to her sides. Her hands were icy, her forehead burned. Her body seemed unable to produce the warmth the infection to the wound in her side tried to enforce.

"… killed him."

"You killed who?" Lucas frowned, touching the slender shoulder gently.

"…heard them… laughing… Mary… he wanted…"

Cold ran down the rifleman's back. There had been that expression on the schoolteacher's face, the way she had let Mark tell that part of their story.

"You heard them talking?" Should he try to wake her once more? The girl spoke through chattering teeth, eyes roaming wildly under half-closed lids. She moved her head erratically.

"He meant to… wanted to…" Her face spoke of the things she could not form words for. Had Eirik's face always been this expressive? Or was it the underlying, always alert wariness that was missing now?

"… keep quiet… must not make… a sound…"

"That's when you got hurt? He stabbed you?" Lucas inquired, wiping the wet cloth over her temple. "You did well. You defended yourself and the children. And Miss Schuler."

The shivers got worse, Lucas could see the young woman's eyes turn back into her head. Her whole body shook, her teeth clamped together.

A strange tension rose in the rifleman as he realised the only way to get the young woman to warm again. He'd seen wounds like this in the war often enough, and knew how to react, but it was different, so different… shaking his head gently, he slid under the fur behind the young woman and carefully pulled her back against himself. He found the lanky body cool and strangely alive, despite the shivers. Bedding the intensely female head on his arm, he rested the other over the covers around her middle, securing the fur tightly against her.

His body was telling him in unmistakable terms that he was sharing his bed with a sleeping woman for the first time in years. Not even the smell of warm spice and sweat he knew well enough to confuse him thoroughly could change that. But after a while, Emery's shivering gentled, and then subsided, and the young woman seemed to slide into a deeper sleep, drawing heat from him.

Contrarily, Lucas felt himself relaxing against the slender form, strangely satisfied at the calmer rise and fall under his arm. His eyes fell closed without him noticing.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Lucas woke to the sun's rays reaching for the inside of the cave. The girl was sleeping against him, breath laboured. A quick check of her forehead spoke of still high fever. He slipped out of the covers, surprisingly well rested and warm to his toes.

The horses seemed none the worse for their night in the mountains, greeting him eagerly. There was grain in both Pinto's and Spirits saddlebags, so Lucas fed them, trusting them to get water from the little brook.

Returning to the dimness of the cave, he found the patient tossing around again. Her face was pale with high spots of colour on her cheeks, her expression drawn.

"Emery."

She startled at his voice, but instead of calming like she had done last night, tried to crawl away from him. Lucas frowned, touching the moist cloth to her face.

"Emery, what's eating at you?"

She tried to sit up, eyes feverish and unseeing, movements erratic. "Need to tell…" One hand reached up to her head, a move as if to dislodge the scarf. With a small sound of pain she collapsed, pressing both hands to the wound.

Lucas had jumped to and caught her before she hit her head against the stone wall. "Calm, woman, you'll hurt yourself. Lie down." He found he used the same voice he reserved for sick Mark, or a spooked horse.

But it would not work on the young woman. "Need to tell… trust… betrayed…" Lucas tried to catch the fluttering hands, conveying security with his grip. "Stayed too long… too easy."

Torn between fascination and concern, the rifleman bent over his farmhand, searching the expressive face for all the things he had missed before. Her eyes roamed, taking in nothing, seeing only the inside of her own mind.

"Shh, calm down. You need rest." He sounded helpless even to himself.

She cried out in desperation. Ah, she was remembering the accident.

Sudden intuition flooded Lucas. "The accident was the reason you stayed…" He touched a hand to the narrow face in emotion.

 _Nobody would have frowned had Eirik left the McCain's employment at the beginning of summer. Quite the contrary, this was the time to leave if looking for something new… But he – she – had stayed on, needed sorely since Lucas would be unable to work for the next two months. A harder, more selfish person might have bargained for better pay… or left despite the situation, leaving the McCains to fend for themselves. They had the help of the town, another farmhand would appear…_

"Here, take a sip of water. Next time it will be Willow bark, I promise."

Lucas made the young woman drink.

"…never meant… the lie…"

She was working herself up again.

Yes, the lie… it must have taken on a life of itself for the young woman, something she had not anticipated. If she'd left during the summer, the McCains would have lost a farmhand, and missed a friend, Lucas admitted angrily, but nobody would have been the wiser.

"We'll talk about this at home." He tried to convey calm reassurance, but had to admit he might be failing. "Drink."

He had to get her onto one of the horses and home to the farm. He'd figure out how to handle the Doc – or maybe not, let her explain herself once she was lucid.

The patient's head fell back in sheer exhaustion, fingers curled in Lucas's large hand. The rifleman considered their options for a moment. Then he stood, staring down on her with a heavy frown.

"Nothing for it, youngster. I need to get home to Mark."

Packing the remainder of their things and saddling the horses was a thing of minutes, then he faced the difficulty of what to do with the girl. Finally he wrapped her in the blanket for warmth, hoisted her first onto Spirit's back and then in front of himself across the saddle, cradling her against his chest the way he would a sleeping Mark. Her head rested against his shoulder. He had forgotten the bright hazel hair – but now that he had her settled against him, he could not care anymore. He spurred the piebald gently. Spirit would follow them on his own.


	20. Chapter 20

Emery felt the heaviness of the ocean weighing on her thoughts, her vision, her sense of hearing. She woke slowly from the depth of unconsciousness to hazy awareness. A lazy feeling of utter displacement washed through her – the sounds were wrong, the smell was wrong. The touch of the blanket was wrong, come to think of it, the mattress was... mattress? Where was she? What had happened?

Hard pressed to lie still, not to open her eyes in panic, she took inventory. What was the last thing she remembered?

The children… and Mary Schuler. The silent fight in the night with the guard who had wanted to pull the woman from the shed… the knife in her belly. Ah – that's where the dull pain originated from. Right, but then? She had carried little Freddy, leading the horses down the mountainside, out the valley… Finding the campsite, Cade, the assembled men, and Micah Torrence. While relief had washed through her, anxiety rose – one tall quiet silhouette was missing. Mark had greeted the older man exuberantly, and asked the question she was fighting with. Torrence nodded toward the dense firs, asking questions of his own. She had hurried ahead, driven by the horrific picture of Lucas buried under those masses of stone.

Ah… she should have waited. Her mind shied away from the memory.

She had fled, unseeing, uncaring through the dark forest, following the valley floor blindly – flight and solitude the only thing on her mind. She did not remember where she had come upon Spirit's fresh trail, but could surmise that he had answered to her whistle. She remembered the insistent pain in her side becoming unbearable riding on her trusted friend, remembered the climb upwards, away from civilisation, away… She must have been close to loosing consciousness several times during that ride.

The cave… she remembered that dimly. A fire… shadow's dancing on the wall. But here things got feverish – how could she trust the impression of the square jaw, of the piercing blue eyes pulling her from the darkness? Surely that was wishful thinking, her brain working through the impressions of the last days…

But then where was she? Her senses wanted to persuade her…

Good God, she could feel a strand of her hair touching her cheek… the braid by her ear.

Her eyes flew open then, her breath painful and short, first impression a window covered by white drapes.

Despite herself, one hand reached upwards, searching for the bandages on her chest – and encountered bare skin. She was wearing her leather shirt. And she was weak as a kitten. The hand in front of her eyes seemed translucent.

Scared now, the young woman turned her head – and almost whished she hadn't. She knew where she was, though she'd never set foot in the room.

It's usual occupant stood leaning against the doorframe, his presence filling the room, overbearing, stifling until Emery fought to draw breath. Blood rushing in her ears, she felt light-headed, unreal.

Lucas McCain stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He returned her gaze with a calmly measuring, unreadable expression.

Time seemed to stretch to eternity. A thousand things passed through the young woman's mind, foremost the thought that should he intend to carry out his threat, she'd gladly die this moment.

The words that tumbled over her lips after she had managed to swallow finally were:

"Now you know."

Her voice sounded wrong to herself – high pitched, artificial, rough. Her mother's accent coming through again.

How had he found her? Where was Mark?

That last question answered itself immediately – the door opened just enough to let the small head poke through, blue eyes searching the room until they settled on her with the wide, curious, and so innocent expression she had come to love so much. He seemed unfazed by the adventure he had endured.

Emery's heart gave a sudden twitch. She would have to leave all this behind…

"Hey there." The boy's eyes searched her face with pure, undisguised intent. "You're awake!"

She forced the shadow of a smile. "Mark."

The boy swallowed, too. "I'll bring you a drink of water, shall I?"

"That would be kind."

Thirst, hunger, none of that mattered. The tall rifleman was staring down on her with narrowed eyes, his mouth a thin line. Her heart was beating in her ears. She clasped her hands together to hide their shivering. Her head was too heavy for her neck. Emery made to sit up a little, but fell back against the cushion with a small sound she could not suppress. The twofold pain in her side reminded her most insistently of her humanity.

She began to draw a breath, but faltered. Did she still own the right to call the tall man 'Lucas?'

"How did I get here?" Would he even answer? She turned her head to look at him again, and startled to see he had moved two steps toward her. Now he stood in the middle of the room, tension to his shoulders, hands half-curled by his sides.

Too close, too close, her senses screamed.

His voice was hoarse. "I followed your trail."

He'd found her? He'd brought her back? How? Those shadows against the wall…

"The cave?" her voice was toneless, husky.

"Aye. I bandaged your wound." His words were hard, clipped. "In the morning I put you on the horse and rode home. You've been out of it for half a day and most of a night."

"…and half a day again. Its after school." Mark stuck his head into the room again, following up with his whole body, carrying a cup of water in front of him.

"Oh." So much to process, and there were spots of light dancing in front of her eyes.

Lucas had not moved at the entrance of his son, his eyes never leaving her face.

Her hands shook so badly from her efforts to sit up that she threatened to spill the water. Lucas took one heavy step and put an arm behind her back.

His touch seared her, but she managed to swallow a few blessed sips of cool liquid. She closed her eyes. Gently pushing the offered from her, she let herself sink back against the cushions.

"Mark, I think we should let her rest now."

"Yes, Pa. Will – will she be all right?" There was that moment of hesitation, Emery noticed.

"We'll see, son. Take this back?"

The boy padded out of the room, the door gently bumping against the frame.

"Emery."

Her eyes flew open for the second time, and found the angular face bent over her. She felt disembodied, floating, loosing her sense of self to the blue eyes.

McCain's face changed subtly, a trace of bewilderment entering his gaze.

"You know my name?"

Her fright must have relayed itself to him, for his expression gentled. "You told me."

The young woman found herself shivering all over, all her composure shattered. How could she have told him? It had not been her name for almost ten years.

A broad hand reached out to cup her cheek, startling her and forcing her gaze back to his. His expression had changed, softened. He looked almost pensive.

"Doc said you should only drink water till the evening. He's worried about that wound. You've got a couple of broken ribs, too. Though not much can be done about those. If you feel all right, tomorrow you can eat. Sound ok?"

The deep voice flowed over her, the meaning of his words not reaching her. One hand crept up to touch the fingers resting against her face – was this real? Was she dreaming?

Lucas started at her touch and withdrew, eyes hard suddenly. "Rest. Mark and I are outside – you can call if you need anything."

He left without a backward glance.

The young woman could not tear her gaze from the door after it had closed behind the tall, broad-shouldered form.

Her chest compressed by the iron bands of fairy tales, she managed to turn to her side, circling her arms around herself. Biting down on her knuckles, she gave in to the wretched, silent sobs the exhaustion and desperation tore from her. The tears though had one thing working for them – they quickly carried her over to the darkness.

….

She woke the second time to the sun low above the horizon, painting orange lights in the room. So it was a few hours later. She felt more herself, even though it scared her how weak she was. Biting down against the pain, she sat up and inspected the bandages on her belly. The wound was sewn closed, and was beginning to heal. There was no putrefaction, but redness and swelling prove of an infection as would be expected from a wound left untended for a day. It hurt, a pain that went deep, but as long as she did not rip anything internal, it would be manageable. The room spun around her, her hands shook. Exhausted, she sank back onto the bed. This was not good. But it would have to do.

The door opened to quiet quick pads – Mark.

His eyes widened. "You're awake! How are you feeling?"

This boy treated her just as if nothing had changed. "A little better, thank you." Her voice shook.

"Are you hungry?"

"I think I could eat." God, why had Lucas brought her back here? Why not leave her downtown with the Doc? She had no words to offer to the boy.

Mark straightened, tilted his head. "You look different. I like your hair."

"Mark." That was Lucas from the next room. "Clean the table, please."

The boy gave her a small smile, and scampered off.

Her hair… both hands reached up to her wild tresses, barely confined to a crude braid. She managed to tame them into a slightly more dignified do before the tall rifleman stuck his head in, carrying a bowl.

"There's some stew."

Her hands shook, reaching for the food. "Thank you." The plate was too heavy.

He met her eyes levelly and frowned. One quick move pulled a chair to the bed, and one large paw held the bowl steady.

"Pa?" Mark appeared in the door.

"Bring the tea, son, please."

She could not eat, not with everything between them unspoken.

"Lucas…"

For a short moment he met her eyes, challenging, the stubborn set to his chin. "Eat first, then we can talk."

She could not remember the last time it had been such hard work to get a few spoons of warm food inside her. Finally the rifleman took the spoon from her fingers and fed her himself.

But her throat closed up, and she waved him away, closing her eyes. The heavy steps thundered in her ears.

"Why bring me here?"

Lucas stopped in the doorway, glancing back at her. "I owed you two lives."

"I lied to you."

He hesitated, the frown deepening, stubborn. "You saved my son."

 _But he had thought she had run… had left the children to their fates…_

Unable to hold his stare any longer, she turned to the window. The sun had set.

"There's some questions that need answerin'."

She nodded without looking at him. Her head pounded already.

"Right. We've had a contingent of soldiers in North Fork asking questions."

That brought her head up in wary surprise. Soldiers? "Why?"

The blue eyes pierced her. He ignored her question – had she voiced it out loud? "Why didn't you tell Cade what you were planning on doing?"

"Cade?" she shook her head in disbelief. "But I did… while I was taking care of his wound…"

"Pa?"

Lucas turned his head. "Yes, son?"

"Can I stay and listen?"

Lucas motioned at the chair still standing near the end of the bed. "It's your story as much as hers."

Emery startled physically – 'her's'. Blood rushed to her face. Both McCains were watching her.

Lucas' upper lip curled slightly. "Start from the beginning. Let's hear your side of it."

She'd not gone through that day in her own mind. Sitting up laboriously, this time without the sound of pain, she clasped her hands before her.

"I'd gone fishing in the morning. Came back to find a fresh trail leading toward our clearing. So I was warned. A shot rang out – Cade getting hurt. I saw Swenson bent over his wife, they were just about to leave with the children." She swallowed. The scene came alive before her inner eyes. "They had all pulled their guns. Cade was already down – but a shoulder shot like his is not life-threatening. So I decided to stay hidden and try and follow the children, maybe a situation would arise…" She shrugged, biting her lip.

"You carry no gun." Lucas said thoughtfully from where he was leaning against the cupboard.

"They rode into the valley, the children and Mary Schuler on the wagon. I followed until the tree line."

"Why not further?"

"There was no cover. None. It is bare land, and they were on horses."

"But how did you know where they were taking us?" Mark leaned forward intently.

"They split up a few horse-lengths into the valley. Two of the men led their horses up the right side of the mountains. I climbed within the trees parallel to them, and could catch a few phrases – they talked about confusing the trail and 'el alud', an avalanche. My Spanish is thin. I caught their intention, and turned back. It was clear that there had to be a path for the rest of the group to take, 'dos cabanas' to reach over a 'paso de montana'."

She lifted her eyes to the tall rifleman's. "You know that valley. The only possibility for a pass is on its left end. I thought I was telling as much to Cade."

"After you put the Swenson's on the horse?"

"Lucy was hurt bad, and we needed to get word to town."

"Why not ride yourself?" Lucas' face was unreadable.

The young woman frowned. "Because by the time I'd have returned, they'd have been who knows where. I lost what time I dared caring for Cade, then drove Spirit off to lay a false trail."

"What happened then?" Mark had trouble sitting down.

The rifleman shot an expressive glance at his boy. "You followed the two spaniards?"

Heartbreak and anger mixed in her chest. McCain was testing her. She turned her face to the window, unable to hide the realisation. Too exhausted to keep up any kind of façade. "Had I followed them, I would be under that field of rubble. I reasoned that not only would the left crest of the valley shorten my path, it would hide me from them – even before the rockslide covered the whole valley in dust." She was too tired to suppress a shudder. Her head was throbbing. She'd been scared on the unknown mountainside, unable to see any further than a horse' length.

"How did you choose your path if you could not see?" Mark's question was innocent.

She almost smiled. "Remember the evening before, when we stretched our legs?"

"Ah! Yes, we could see to the end of the valley! But I don't think I could have found a path just because I looked at… It seemed mighty steep!"

Emery saw the frown on Lucas' face deepen.

"Go on."

She squared her shoulders against the knot in her stomach. She'd have to get this over with quickly. "Found the pass just before sun set, the huts a little later. Scouted out the horses. Eaves-dropped on the men until they were well drunk. When one came out and talked to the guard at the cottage where the children and Miss Schuler rested, I…" she trailed off then. Cold horror ran down her back. She lifted a hand to her face.

To her surprise, Lucas pushed off the wall and sat on the edge of the bed. There was grudging understanding in his eyes.

"I know about this part. You fought against them both, had to keep them silent. Knocked one unconscious. I take it the other stabbed you, and you killed him in self-defense?"

Emery bit her lip, impossibly torn between taking comfort from his words, the expression in his eyes – and the knowledge that it could not last, that she had no right... that he must hate her for her deception. How had he known? She turned her head away, fighting against the threatening tears. She had to swallow twice to find her voice again.

"The rest you know, Mark. Breaking the lock on the door would have woken the other cabin, so I made them-" she tilted her head at a happily nodding, wide-eyed Mark, "climb out through a window. Put them on the horses, walked them down." She found she was shivering – with suppressed emotion as much as with exhaustion. The pain from her wound made the sweat gather on her forehead.

"Anything else the sergeant wanted to know?"

Lucas gave her a sharp glance. "He was interested in descriptions of the goons – how many did you count?"

"Six… five." Her stomach threatened to bring up the few spoons of stew she had managed to swallow. Deep breaths… She closed her eyes, and quickly described the bearded faces to the two McCains. The leader had a telling scar through one eyebrow, the guard she had left unconscious and bound had dark hair that fell over his shoulder and a piece missing from his … right ear. One of the other ones was limping. One had a colt with ivory handles.

She let her head fall back against the headboard. Enough.

"Enough." The tall man echoed her thoughts eerily. He stood. "Sleep. We'll get word to town."

"Do you need anything for the night?"

If they'd only leave now, both of them… "No, Mark, Thank you." She kept her face turned toward the window and threw an arm over her eyes. She heard the boy pad out again, but Lucas' presence loomed still. The young woman forgot to breathe listening for the rifleman to move.

"Emery."

Why did she feel like a searing iron was being turned in her middle every time he called her by her name? Despite herself, she opened her eyes.

And was robbed of her breath for the second time. Lucas stood in the door, eyes stormy. Every inch of the tall man spoke of tension, some inner turmoil, fury. He returned to the bed with two long strides, and grabbed her arms roughly.

"Promise me, no, swear to me, on your life, that you won't steal out of here in the night." His eyes pierced hers. "And not because you would die out there without care, but because you owe me an explanation. We need to have words, you and I."

There was hurt under the anger. She'd hurt him. The deception, their friendship… she'd hurt him, and not only his pride. It overwhelmed her, shattering the flimsy defences she had managed to build again.

"Lucas…"

He shook her, none too gently. "Swear it!"

The pain in her side exploded. Emery found she had lifted her hands defensively. He was scaring her. And he would not give her time to think.

"Swear it, or I will tie you to the bed." His breath was hot on her face.

"Enough, please." She'd known the tall man was strong, but not quite how strong. She felt like straw. "I give you my word."

He let go as if burned, eyes widening in consternation.

For a moment they both caught their breath, staring at each other.

"I'll see you in the morning."

"Lucas."

He turned.

"Spirit?" she begged.

"In the corral, with BlueBoy and Razor. He's fine." His voice was husky.

"Thank you." A whisper.

…


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 20 – Talking

The next day was a haze in the young woman's memory. Somewhere there was the Doc's burly face bent over her, brows knitted in consternation and concentration. The white hair framing it changed to sandy blonde strands falling into a high, square forehead, heavy brows above blue eyes… Lucas. Through the thrumming in her ears she could not be certain if she could actually make out the words.

"She's been feverish through the night, Doc. Did not get much rest… How's the infection?"

The answer was already unreachable to her consciousness. The dreams claimed her.

Some time during the afternoon she woke, clear-headed. Her limbs and thoughts still felt bogged down, the wound a constant throbbing in her side. She must have made a sound, for the tall rifleman stuck his head through the door.

"Guess there was no need to make you promise not to leave during the night?"

It felt like a peace offering, even though Lucas was scowling ferociously.

Emery could not help the small smile. Her hands had stopped shaking.

"N-not really…" Ok, her voice was still rough.

"I half expected you to be gone regardless." He offered her a glass of water, which she accepted gratefully.

"I gave my word." That was the wrong thing to say. His anger seemed to multiply, his face darkened. Emery took a quick breath, and forestalled the outbreak.

"You don't know who's word you got."

"You lied to me for more than a year."

She'd lied to Mark, to the whole town, but that was not the issue here. She lifted her head to give him a hard gaze. The fever made everything sharper, contours over-precise, her thoughts biting. "Do I still call you Lucas?"

That gave the tall man pause. Something passed behind his eyes. His expression softened, though he would not answer. She took that as answer enough.

"Lucas, the only thing I lied about was my first name." … and the fact that she didn't take a piss standing up, but he had never asked about that. "Everything else was the truth."

He glared at her quizzically.

"Every single word, to you and to Mark."

God, it was good he had made her promise not to leave, she would have dragged herself out of the bed on all fours. The helplessness of having to concede superiority to the small voice of reason that told her 'Y _ou could not even stand up by yourself, nor do you remember a single moment of this night.'_ would have made her angry, had she not been so tired. Her eyes searched for the tall man.

Damn, he was intimidating, standing with the light at his back, his face closed and still angry.

Desperation threatened to swamp her. She knew she had only to lose here, but still... still... if she could make him understand...

"I never meant to let you find out. That day repairing the fence, I was going to tell you."

"I remember." He grumbled, a stubborn expression - almost childish - flitting over his face.

Her heart clenched.

"Why?" Lucas' ability to put all his anger, consternation and frustration in to a single word was unique.

Emery had to glance away, robbed of her hard fought-for calm by the stormy gaze. His whole body seemed to scream tension. She could feel the blood rising into her face. "Lucas, this was nothing to do with you, or with North Fork. I've been living as a man for the past years. I move on before people get suspicious, nobody the wiser."

He was watching her with his most unreadable expression. Inwardly the young woman grinned a bitter little smile. "I never meant to stay this long in one spot."

A heavy hand came down on the table with a barely restrained bang. "As you've told me before. Why did you stay?"

Startled despite herself, she bit her lip. Surely he must have guessed. The horrible fright of seeing his tall, powerful body tumble from the outcrop with the mountain-lion clawing at him rose before her eyes. Emery tried to shrug the memory off and answered coolly: "It wouldn't have felt right to leave Mark to look after the farm all by himself after your accident."

Lucas turned to the window, knuckles of his fingers white where he was clenching them to fists on the windowsill.

"So many things… I treated you like a man, a friend." The deep voice was harsh. "The wound on your arm… the way you hid your hands."

Emery bit down on a fist, eyes burning. Lucas kept his back turned toward her.

"The stupid scarf. I can't believe I never suspected anything! You worked with Mark… on the field, with the cows…"

She had seen him angry a few times, but never with the seething fury that now reverberated in his voice. The fever scrambled her thoughts, she was unable to find words. It did not matter.

"Florence – she knew, didn't she?" He did not even turn around for an answer. "The child… and yet…" The tall silhouette against the window hung its head, the window frame croaked under the tension of the bulging muscles. "Who else knows? Who knows?"

Emery shook her head wordlessly. Nobody knew. Nobody could know. Florence had guessed… The young woman did not know when she slipped back into the semi-darkness of fever dreams.

…

When next she woke, it was dark outside. A single lamp lightened the room, Lucas must have been reading at its light. He was already looking at her sharply… but with concern mixed in. That strong face could be so expressive. Ok, stop that train of thought, girl, quickly. That way lie monsters.

Emery tried to sit up. To her surprise, she managed reasonably well.

"Hungry?"

She shrugged, surprised by the rumble from her stomach. "A little."

Lucas hid a quick smile in getting up, and returned with a bowl of chicken stew. He refused her efforts to reach for it, and fed her patiently. To their shared surprise, when Emery was done, the bowl was empty.

Lucas reached out naturally to feel her forehead – and she could not suppress a gasp at the contact. The tall man met her eyes, brows creased in easy scrutiny. "Your brow is cooler, your eyes are clear." His face betrayed profound relief. "How do you feel?"

Emery smelled a faint whiff of whiskey on his breath. "Lighter." Now that was an odd choice of words. But it was true. The horrible sluggishness had lifted from head and body. "Better." She amended for the sake of the confusion on the angular face.

Rocking back on the chair, Lucas unfolded his long limbs to place the empty bowl on the table – besides the almost empty glass.

"I must ask your forgiveness."

Emery turned her head in wary surprise. Was he mocking her? This change from their last exchange was too much – which one was a dream?

"In the woods… I thought you had abandoned Mark to the enemy. I believed Cade."

"Cade?" what had he got to do with anything?

Lucas straightened and turned towards her, stretching his legs under the bed.

"In town earlier today, I confronted him. Told him a different man might come to think he tried to get rid of a man he was still wary of, still thought of as a rival…" At what he read in her face he added dryly: "Miss Schuler looks to you first if you're both in a room. He almost pulled a gun on me."

"Cade?" Emery felt her brows knitting together. She clasped her hands together. Slowly things began making sense.

"He never repeated what you had told him about following the children, the cabins, the rockslide. I think he may have changed the sequence of events. Mark and your story overlap better than his and Mark's. I'm saying I am honest sorry for calling you a coward. Your actions were… remarkable."

His voice had taken on that gravelly intensity that had endeared him to her when she was still Eirik, and made her stomach vibrate with resonance. She became aware that he was watching her with those piercing eyes, waiting for an answer.

"You were mislead… there is no need-"

"I was too quick to let him get under my skin. You've proven resourceful and quick before. And no coward. Especially not where kids are involved." He leaned forward.

Even knowing he could probably read her heart in her face, the young woman could not look away. He had been mesmerizing when she had still been safe, but now…

"Thank you." Oh, how stupid did that sound? "I mean…" she stammered, finally tearing her eyes away from his shadowed silhouette, "there is nothing to forgive."

She lowered her eyes onto her hands. Unbidden the memories rose - of the desolate run through the night forest, her desperation, her horror and pain. Darkness threatened at the edges of her consciousness, called by the turmoil in heart and mind.

A large, calloused, cool hand slowly covered her white knuckles. A second hand cradled her cheek and gently forced her chin upward, until their eyes met.

Time stood still for Emery. Time, the universe, the dusty new Mexico landscape… her senses screamed overload, blood pounding in her ears. How gentle the callused hands…

Lucas was gazing at her as if trying to read her soul. She could see a pale mirror image of herself in his widening pupils. His eyes widened a little, and in the same moment that Emery was forced to draw a breath, the rifleman dropped his hand from her face and tilted his head down.

He was sitting down on level with her mattress, and still he towered over her. Had he always been this tall?

"It is I who is asking forgiveness, for being a coward."

The big hand tightened on her fingers. "What?" Lucas' face turned up again.

"I lied to you for a whole year. To you and to Mark." Suddenly she was thrown back into reality. Where was the boy? What time was it? Spirit, her plans to leave, the town, the Doc, Micah Torrence… What had Lucas told in town? Who knew? Questions swamped her, threatened to overwhelm her. But there was something more important that needed to be said.

"You trusted me. We were friends. And I lied to you." Her hands unclasped involuntarily, and she shyly gripped the hard fingers still touching hers. "Please believe me, I never meant to hurt you, never meant to let it go this far. Your accident… I could not leave, but could not tell… I was so close so many times, and then that day on the field, repairing the fence, I had resolved it had to be this day. I had my things packed, I was ready to…" she swallowed in an effort to force her tongue to stop, but to no avail. His eyes spoke of consternation. The words stumbled on. "… I was prepared for any reaction. Your leg was well enough. And then… Mary and Ned… and then it was the sulphur springs. I hate that I did not tell you some time before, earlier, that you … found out that way… that I hurt you… put you in this position." Damn, tears were running down her cheeks. Angrily she pulled her hands out of his fingers and wiped her face. "I don't mean to cry."

Lucas straightened, lips curling slightly. "No, you're not much of a girl normally."

It took an embarrassingly long time for her brain to work out the humour in his voice, in his words. Then, her eyes flew up to his face, to find him looking down at her with an expression she had seen often – but usually directed at Mark…

The relief made her giddy, even though the blood was rushing to her head. The surrealism of the situation made her chuckle. Which reminded her forcefully of the pain in her side.

Lucas had not noticed her grimace. "You know there are some things that make sense now. Of course you'd be all for women's rights. Of course you'd try to help Cade and Mary." He shook his head lightly, eyes far away. "Few young men would know how nor want to handle a babe like Tony. Was it the reason why you never drank? Fear of betraying yourself?" He turned his face, and straightened, a frown creasing his face.

Must be her face was betraying her now – but the pain in her side had surprised her. She sat up labouredly. "Partly, of course. But…" she shrugged, suddenly tired again. "My first encounter with alcohol, I ended up too slow to help a friend in need, and he lost his life for it. I swore to myself then I'd never touch the stuff again. Also, you know how it affects natives."

"I can see how your wound is affecting you, Emery."

She could not suppress the falter in her breathing at his use of her name. Of course Lucas noticed, mocking her lightly: "You'll have to get used to the name. No-" he forestalled her rising agitation calmly, getting to his feet. "- it's very late, and we both need sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."

It was a promise, one that sounded almost like a threat to the young woman. Defiance mixed with laughter bubbled up in her, and she tilted her head at the tall, tall man taking up so much space and air in the little cabin. She could see more of Mark in him when he was slightly inebriated, less guarded, more boyish. Blood rose to her cheeks.

Lucas had made it to the door during her considerations, and glanced back, catching her unawares, making the blood rise higher.

"Emery. I like the sound of it."

"You were so angry before." Ah, she could have kicked herself. But the words were out, floating in the room between them.

Lucas' brow rose as he taunted her: "What did you expect?"

He closed the door gently behind him, leaving the young woman to reflect on how she liked the way he made her name sound. The name she had not been called by since she was ten years old.


	22. Chapter 22

Lucas woke in the middle of the night with quickened heartbeat, awareness at high alert. Something had startled him awake - but it were the usual night sounds only, now. His son was snoring gently in his bed. Lucas rose soundlessly from the mattress they had put on the floor in Mark's room, to give their farmhand / patient some privacy.

Emery! Had she called out? Had it been the sound of a door closing? Grabbing his rifle automatically, McCain strode through the dark rooms and glanced out. It was a clear night with an almost full moon yet hovering over the horizon. Nothing seemed amiss in the yard.

Crossing over to his own room, he found the door ajar. Shock and fury poured over him as he pushed the door open and found the bed empty, the room untouched. She'd promised him!

He lost all feeling in the hand grasping his rifle. It were two steps to the main door. He did not know what he would do, the image of the slender silhouette on the magnificent stallion riding toward the horizon appearing before his eyes. Follow her? Make her stay and answer his questions? Turn her over to the authorities? What crime had she committed? What right did he have to apprehend her? Was it merely concern for her health and safety that made him so anxious?

He rushed the door open silently, slid out and closed it behind him. Eyes straining toward the corral. Spirit would be visible in this light if he was… Yes, there he was, head lifted expectantly towards him. A breath he had not known he had held in rushed out of the rifleman, at the same moment that a choked voice muttered:

"'m here."

Lucas turned forcefully, rifle lowered. Emery was sitting on the floor under the window, against the house wall, arms wrapped tight around her.

She was wearing the shirt he had put on her in the cave, but the long legs she had pulled toward her chest were bare… very white and smooth in the silvery light. Her hair had fully escaped the bonds and billowed out around the heart-shaped face, covering her silhouette far down her back like a mantle. It struck Lucas then: No saddle-bags, no pants, no shoes…

"What's going on?"

The young woman wiped her arm over her eyes in a touchingly childish motion and sniffed. Embarrassment – or fear? - tensed her shoulders.

Now that he was looking at her more calmly, he noticed the sporadic shivers and the silvery tracks on her cheeks. His heart clenched.

The picture he had of – Eirik – was always in command of the situation, his movements always contained. This creature here was desperate, afraid… vulnerable.

He did not like to see her in pain – physical or otherwise. Leaning the rifle against the doorframe, he knelt down, suddenly very aware of his size.

"Woman, what are you doing out here in the cold?" He reached over her to the blanket in the old rocking chair and wrapped it tightly around her. He ignored the instances he touched her bare skin, ignored the way her breath caught every time he got so close she must be able to feel his body heat.

"Talk to me!" he urged impatiently.

It seemed words came to the girl with difficulty.

"I had a nightmare."

The rifleman stared, nonplussed. A nightmare? Her eyes rose to his face, expressing a wariness that made him frown. She even pulled back a little from him – making him realise that the moon was at his back. She could not see his face, but still, would she be scared of him? Slowly he folded his limbs and sat down beside her, crossing his long legs in studied nonchalance. His thoughts skipped over their disjointed conversations since he'd brought her back. Had he been scaring her? His emotions had been a confounding whirl of fury, hurt pride, confusion, and something indefinable… Mark's questions had fuelled his anger in the same measure that they had also cleared his head.

"A nightmare." He mumbled in calming tones.

She'd also held a breath which she let out now in a slow, measured release. He felt her twitch. Her head turned until she looked up at him with wide eyes.

"You thought I left."

"I might have." He conceded, blood still pounding.

He watched a strand of hair fall over the side of her face as she tilted it back toward the moon. She looked so sad, so lost. Lucas frowned at the conflicting emotions fighting inside him, unable to tear his gaze away. Finally he nudged her gently.

"A nightmare?"

He succeeded, the corner of her mouth twitched. She rolled her shoulders.

"It was… I was… inside… underneath something…" her head moved in small, searching motions. "Something… Everything… Everything was collapsing on me," she formulated finally. "Like that rockslide. I was at the bottom of it. Could not move, not cry out." He could see the bulges where she was burrowing her fingers into her arms. "I woke – to a closed room, a prison. I needed…" her voice broke, a violent shiver ran over her.

Lucas considered her, fingers itching to push the errand strand of hair back from her face. "You needed the sky above you, fresh air around you."

She stilled at his words. Her face calmed, turned toward him with a question.

"Waiting for the enemy to attack, and then living through the bullet-hail is much like you described your dream."

Her eyes were full of contemplation, even consternation as they met his now.

"Think it means something, this dream?" He let humour slide into his voice and eyes.

She turned her head too hurriedly. Her eyes had already betrayed her. Lucas waited tensely.

A long moment passed before Emery found her voice again.

"I know exactly what it means," she mumbled thickly.

Lucas leaned his head against the wall, clasping his hands lightly over his pulled-up knee.

"I'm scared."

Senses heightened by the silent, calm night, something fell startlingly into place. She was not a different person, Lucas discovered with a wry, soundless grunt. But it was as if the revelation of her sex had intensified her characteristics. Eirik had been the watered down, wary version of this expressive, vocal creature. Lucas realised his confusion stemmed from the ingrained behavioural rules he'd follow thinking of her as a woman, and the deep-set trust and friendship he had already felt for the guarded young man. If he kept treating her as if she were Eirik, and ignore the bare skin, the expressiveness of the slender hands, the smell of the silky hair and the picture of her half-naked body in the cave, she'd be less intimidated by him.

So he leaned his head back, closed his eyes, relaxed his posture and inquired dryly: "When was the last time you were scared?"

And it worked. Though the answer was surprising. "When I saw you fall from that cliff with the cougar clawing at you."

He had to let that stand. But… "Not when you were following those Hispanics with our children?"

He felt her relax a little beside him. A light shaking of her head, the long hair brushing against his arm.

"That was different. There was always… hope, possibilities. I could act. Watching you fall, I was… destitute."

"You acted quickly then, too." She'd shot the cougar that was attacking him – with bow and arrow no less.

"I've always been sorry to kill such a magnificent animal."

He remembered something. "You did seem sad that time you had gone after the bees…"

She yawned delicately.

"Where I grew up, the most dangerous animals are the wolves first, and the grizzlies second. The bears can be deadly – but if you treat them as equals, they will leave you in peace. My brother and I hunted salmons with a grizzly she-bear and her two cups three springs in a row. Only once did things get hairy, when our shadows disturbed the fish where she was expecting them to go. She came toward us, huge, measured, but not angry. We realised what was going on and quickly moved – and she turned around and went back to feeding. Didn't even blink when the cups came nosing at us."

"Yet you carry a grizzly fur."

"Aye. There's crazed young bears, that threaten a settlement, or wounded ones, that can't hunt properly any more. Those that endanger, they have to be taken down… and still take their dues."

She was getting tired, her head leaning back against the wall, her shoulder grazing his arm. Lucas felt an awareness rising that would not stay hidden for long. Her vulnerability, due to the wound, her weakness, her dependence on him… they would weigh on a self-reliant person. She was so very noticeably female.

He turned his head.

"What are you scared of, now?"

Again, it took her a long while to answer. Her eyes were closed. "How to resolve this. Where to go from here. The wound… I'm weak. Everything seems so pointless. I can but try and pick up Benton's trail, fight for what's rightfully mine, or my tribe's at least, and return to the north. But I'm tired…"

Oh, he understood fully. She did not have the mindless brutality to bite down on vengeance as a life-goal.

"Why would…" she broke off, uncertain.

He tilted his head a little. "Go on."

"Cade…"

Lucas cleared his throat. "He tried to get rid of you, marking you as a coward. Either he thought you under the rubble, or that the strangers would take care of you for him."

"But Mary was taken…"

"He was trying to insert himself into the planning of the rescue. Thinking back the last days, his behaviour made more sense. He used your descriptions to ground his suggestions…"

She was silent for a long moment.

"I put you and Mark in an impossible situation, and I can't even…"

Scrutinizing her face he finally reached out and touched a hand to her forehead. She flinched, and her eyes flew open. In the sinking moon's last rays, the expression in them was of such intense yearning that Lucas had to swallow. He almost lost his train of thought.

"That's the fever talking. Things will look brighter in the morning." She had glanced away as quickly as noticing his eyes on her, but her disconcertion was palpable even so. "We… Mark and I are deeply in your debt as it is, Emery. You don't have to ask…" he finished lamely, voice hoarse. He'd lost the moment.

The young woman sat up, let the blanket slide from her shoulders and answered coolly: "I think we're fairly square by now, Lucas. You did not have to go after me, nor bring me here. I've been a dead weight for what, a week now?"

Lukas climbed to one knee, half angry now. "After pulling more than your weight for a whole year, plus bringing the farm through eight weeks of my reconnaissance. I disagree."

"See, that's why I'd leave in the night, so I would not have to fight with you."

The rifleman bit down on a retort, calmed his breath. "No more fighting," he conceded. "But you won't leave without good-bye." He held out a hand, getting up. Emery took a breath before glancing up at him and then reaching for his hand. He pulled her upright gently, reached for the door.

The growing coldness of the slender fingers in his paw should have warned him, but it was the scared, questing sound that made him turn.

Emery was white as a ghost, wavering helplessly where she stood.

Doc had warned him about this, Lucas thought grimly, catching the fainting girl in his arms. She had lost so much blood, fainting when she got up too quickly was going to occur for a while. And she hadn't been eating as much as he would have liked. Come to think of it, it was a wonder she had gotten out here without incident.

Her head was a comfortable, familiar weight against his shoulder as he carried her back to her – to his – bed. Laying her down, her cheek rested against his for a moment, her hand tangled in his collar. He pulled upright with surprising reluctance. Bent over her, a hand cupped around her cool cheek, he waited until she moaned quietly and opened her eyes.

"Hey." Lucas felt his smile gather warmth at the utterly confused expression.

"What happened?"

"Seems you are a girl after all," he teased gently. "You fainted."

She pursed her lips, brows snaking together. "I did?"

Smiling at her birdlike innocence, he stroked his thumb over her brow. "A side effect of the blood loss, Doc warned. Sleep. Gather your strength."

He felt her eyes following him all the way to the door.

….


	23. Chapter 23

Mark had left for school, promising not to forget the order from the smithy, and to pass by Miss Hattie's store. They had again agreed on calmly white-lying to the townspeople for when he was asked after Eirik's wellbeing.

Now Lucas was settling in with the books – it would be time to drive the herd to market in about two month's time.

But the silence which usually enabled him to work was hard fought for this time. Thoughts kept creeping in, questions that had been worrying at his subconscious since that dratted cave… _The pale, pale face so torn over some memory, the feverish eyes, the slender body relaxing against his long limbs. The warm, silky head against his shoulder. The white breasts above the slender waist, marred by the long, ragged gash he had just sewn closed…. Her eyes, the expression in them, the relief when she recognized him, even half delirious…. How she calmed at his voice…_

Was there a movement from the other room? No. The patient was still asleep.

Finally he managed to ban the errand thoughts and settle on his numbers.

Much too soon hoof-beats woke the yard – the boy was back early. Lucas rose lazily, he'd have to help Mark with the groceries.

Opening the door, he stood frozen for a moment. It wasn't Mark.

...

Sam Buckhart swung his leg over the back of his bright chestnut saddle breed. He turned to the door slowly, aware of McCain. Taking in his stony gaze, the dark hair spreading over squared shoulders, the native lawyer stood calmly, waiting.

"Lucas McCain."

All the fury he had thought buried, the anger, the hurt pride rose into his consciousness at once. "You've got some gall showing up here, Sam."

Hardly a muscle moved on the solid face. If anything, humour seemed to glint in the dark eyes. "What have I done to deserve this greeting, Lucas?" The melodic voice was measured.

He knew, Lucas raged inwardly, he had known all along, and had said nothing. This whole drama could have been resolved before it even started. Could have saved him and Mark a shit load of sleepless nights, of worries, of unanswerable questions, in all – an impossible situation could have been avoided. Lucas took a deep breath. His temper had brought him into one situation he deeply regretted in the near past. Slowly.

"You knew, Sam. Why not tell me?"

"Ah, Lucas." Amazing how the staid face lit up from inside with hidden mirth. "This would be a perfect moment to play the game of "who says it out loud first." Though I have the advantage."

Lucas frowned, thrown off track. "What? I have no nerve for game-playing."

"No games then. I had hoped to talk to your farmhand."

"Everybody want's to talk to him. He's indisposed." Lucas spat out the words, taking the steps one at a time.

"So word in town is true, he got hurt?"

"What do you want with Eirik?"

Now Sam frowned. "Lucas, there is no need for this. I mean no harm, neither to you nor to him."

"Him?" Lucas could not help the angry sneer. Sam had known from the day he met Emery. She'd even suggested he might have confided in Lucas…

Sam Buckhart's eyes widened.

"Don't fight over me."

Lucas turned, cold running over him. He had not heard her approach. She'd been asleep.

Emery was leaning in the door, hair gathered loosely at her neck, 'Eirik's' loose leather pants under the soft leather shirt. She was pale as a sheet, but seemed steady enough. She met Lucas' stare with eyes full of apprehension. He could watch her gather the old wariness around her, a defensive shield to guard her. Then she turned and took a step, so she could face Sam Buckhart full on, shoulders squared. One slender, long-fingered hand gripped the supporting beam with white knuckles, but only Lucas could see that.

"Sam Buckhart. You're looking for me?"

"Emery Donnelly, I take it?"

The girl hung her head for a moment, shielding her face from the piercing glance. Then she gave a smile that did not reach her eyes. "You know my name?"

"Daughter of Siobhan O'Donnel and Aks'Yamoria of the Sturgeon Lake tribe, formerly of the Chipewyan. Sister to Eirik Donnelly, who was killed in the fire that also took his father. Alumni of King's college, tough under your brother's name."

There was something so formal to the native's words, that Lucas took a slow, unobtrusive step back. This was out of his league.

The girl – she was a mere girl in this moment, weirdly adult-wise at the same time – gracefully sat down on the top step.

Buckhart was not done.

"Onari, adopted daughter of Kekoa-Neh of the Sturgeon Lake tribe. I come to offer you your heritage. I come to offer you justice."

Lucas searched his old friend's face with painful scrutiny. Did the man know what he was saying? The storm he would be calling forth in the young woman? The rifleman felt a rush of adrenalin – protective, defensive … angry. It left him breathless.

Emery slowly turned her head at him, the heart-shaped face – he'd never get used to that widow's peak transforming the handsome boy's face into an elegant, expressive young woman's.

No, he amended. Eirik's features could be sold for a boy's face, but with the hairline visible, there was no question of gender.

He met the green eyes levelly. Had she felt the turmoil inside him? But she had already turned back toward the lawyer.

"Yes, I am Onari – Emery Donnelly – beholden the sturgeon lake tribe, sister to Eirik Donnelly, daughter of Siobhan and Yamoria's Son." She squared her shoulders, ran a hand through her hair. Then her face transformed suddenly.

"Sam Buckhart, Lucas McCain, can we please drop the formalities. You both know the secret's out. I am yet too weak to go through everything custom dictates here. I owe both of you. You should be aware you are dragging me close to the abyss with those words of yours, Mr. Buckhart. Though please don't let this – my deceit – destroy your friendship."

The dry, if heartfelt words broke the tension that had had the air in the yard shimmering. Lucas felt grudging respect for the young woman – she had taken all the wind out of his remaining anger, and opened a spot for Sam to apologize without loosing face. He felt his face softening, and tilted his head at Buckhart.

"Care to step inside, both of you?"

Emery chuckled at his pronounced irony, and even Sam's mouth twitched.

The two steps toward the young woman sufficed to dry Lucas' mouth and summon a potato in his throat. This was his little friend Buckhart had come to claim!

He held out a hand to Emery, forcing a smile.

Her hand touched his, her eyes met his. Lucas startled at the pure, undisguised fear, yearning and childish helplessness that accosted him.

"Faith, farmhand." He murmured, pulling her upright gently. When she threatened to waver, cheeks going pale, he wrapped an arm protectively around her waist. To his gratification, her hand gripped his shoulder with desperate strength, and she stayed on her feet, the colour returning to her cheeks. A small, sweet smile answered his frown.

Lucas held the door open to their visitor, who had thrown his horse's reign over the railing and followed them into the house.

….

Sam opened the conversation: "How did you get hurt?"

The girl glanced at Lucas, who leaned against the sink and with short words retold the occurrences at the sulphur springs.

Buckhart's eyes never left the young woman.

McCain ended his tale with a measured question. "Sam, Emery here mentioned that you suspected … something. Why did you not say a word?"

The other man tilted his head slightly, glance passing between them, eyes alight. "'t was not my secret to divulge."

Lucas consciously stopped himself from scratching his neck. _But the friendship between us is older than any obligation…._ But no. This was not about obligation, about skin colour or profession. It simply was not Sam's secret to tell. Lucas himself might not have acted differently, had the roles been reversed. He flattened his hands on the tabletop, meeting the other man's eyes squarely. Sam would understand the unspoken question.

"I did not _know_ anything. I might have suspected. But your farmhand did not seem willing to even discuss whatever issue I might see."

Lucas nodded slowly. He remembered that day well. He turned his head to look at the young woman, to find the green eyes filled with an expression of profound embarrassment. Narrowing his eyes at her, he crossed his arms over his chest. Served her right.

"What I need to tell you is for your ears only, Emery O'Donnel."

"If he's interested, let Lucas stay. He's owed an explanation."

The rifleman wanted to interfere, but a steely gaze held him quiet. Emery added a disarming: "I would be grateful for his opinion."

Sam Buckhart nodded slowly, focusing on the young woman.

"A case is being built at the district court in Albuquerque. A man came forward a few weeks ago, claiming the protection of the judicial system for himself and his new wife. He offered information about the dealings of a certain businessman who resides near Phoenix at the moment. In his elaborations, he told of travels from the very northern border of the united states, horrible stories about bodies left in his wake, of names changed like underwear and money made on the backs of ingenious."

Emery – Lucas had placed her in the fauteuil – was clasping her hands around the armrests, knuckles white.

"His name?" her voice was a rasp.

"He produced papers to the name Marius Cunningham. Claims the man he is informing on is a british individual, Wilford Maria Benton."

The girl leaned back, lips bloodless.

"Why would this Cunningham ask the court for protection?" Lucas felt compelled to ask – let Emery gather her thoughts.

"Seems he fell afoul of some local groups while dealing for Benton – who goes by the name of Sanderson in Phoenix. He's recently married, and did not expect their wrath reaching so far. Benton – I will call him by this name – was, by his accounts, not only unsympathetic, but also unable to offer protection. He's lost credibility, influence and thus the power he used to wield. He broke his word to Cunningham, who would rather face the consequences of aiding Benton than see done to his wife and unborn child…"

Lucas twitched. Emery beside him swallowed audibly. "How did you hear of the case?"

"A small tribe of Yavapai are involved – Benton tried to deal with them over an issue with gold on their lands. I was contacted by a friend, and found that character witnesses are sorely looked for, that are not scared to death of the man Benton, and even better – still alive."

"How would you connect me with… I never mentioned his name…"

She did not even realise that she had just now given away her involvement, and Sam's correct assumption. "Do you have proof?"

Buckhart frowned. "Of my words?"

"No, I trust your word. But of the case? That Cunningham will speak out? That…"

Lucas noted the slight change in Sam's countenance – the fact that the woman trusted him, and admitted it so openly, meant something to the native.

Buckhart finished her sentence: "That you might gain your rights, and justice for your family?"

"Aye."

Displacement rushed through Lucas – that was Eirik's word, and yet the slender fingers were female, the profile with the now down-turned, drawn mouth and aquiline nose, the long, sweet-smelling hair… everything about her was female.

Sam Buckhart pulled an envelope from his shirt pocket. "I have this."

"What is it?" Emery made no move to take the piece of paper. She sat up with an effort, and a grimace. "How can I make a useable witness? Everythin' I can account for happened in British North America."

"The provincial court of the Northwest Territories has already promised its support of the case."

For a long while nobody spoke, then the young woman reached for the envelope slowly, getting up in the same motion.

Involuntarily the rifleman took a long step toward the table, ready to offer his support. But the stubborn twist of her lips held him back.

"If you don't mind, this is quite a lot to take in. I would like to read this in private." And she slid by him without a second glance at Buckhart.

She was not returning to the room, but headed out the main door for the corral. Lucas frowned deeply. The hand searching for the backing of the railing was proof of her weakness, but it seemed her need to get away from them was stronger. The young woman padded all the way across the yard until she slipped through the bars. Spirit was nosing her enthusiastically, and when she sat down on the grass, the big horse settled at her back. It was a peaceful picture.

The tall man took a step back into the room, turning to meet his old friend's dark eyes.

"How much danger would she be in?"

"Hopefully less than if she were main witness. This could be a preliminary trial. Open up every possibility if she went to the courts of the Northwestern Territories in her own name and cause. Nobody expects the girl-child from fifteen years ago to be alive and down here in Albuquerque, to speak out against a business man."

"Yes but after she reveals her name and background – won't Benton come after her?"

"She will be under my protection. The lawyer from Yellowknife promised his support, and she'll have the Yavapai looking out for her, too. As soon as Benton's real name was dropped, the stories started appearing. He did despicable things, this man, and ever escaped justice." Sam Buckhart had gotten up when Emery stood and now took a step toward the door. "Benton is at his end, Lucas. He's lost his followers. He used the end of the war to move around and loose his backstories. But now that Cunningham found his personal peace, in this woman, its over for the old man. And this young woman is where it all started."

"Sounds like this has become personal for you."

They both stood now in a way that they could watch the slender figure against the backdrop of the pale stallion's hide. Sam's usually so calm voice deepened.

"I mentioned that stories as the one of Onari's father were told with pride, with admonishment, carried between the tribes. The end of the story of this mixed blood family has been used for fear-mongering and war-cries against white man's duplicity, stealing our land. War only means more death. My education… Cases like this are exactly how I repay my people."

Lucas understood.

"You're in the middle, see both sides. You believe in the law."

"I do."

….

It was Mark's return from school that brought a sorely needed disruption to the tense silence that had settled over the McCain farm. Lucas had returned to his books, Sam Buckhart was lounging in the rocking chair, hat over his face. Emery had not moved, still poring over the few sheets of paper.

The boy swung off BlueBoy in the middle of the yard and, alerted by the stallion's lifted head, saw the young woman sitting in the corral.

"Ei – Emery! You must be feeling better!"

Lucas leaned back in his chair, all senses alert. Until this moment he had mostly tried to keep his son from conversing with the young woman alone. The weird rollercoaster of emotions the past days from the discovery in the cave had put him through, he had tried to answer Marks questions honestly. And now the situation was taken out of his hand…

"Hello Mark!" her voice sounded slightly muffled. "All well downtown?"

"Yes. Miss Schuler asked after you, as did Miss Hattie and… I never told nobody that you are really a... woman."

"I'm really sorry you lied for me, Mark. I owe you a sincere apology for deceiving you for so long."

There was a pause. "You know," Mark's voice sounded different, "it doesn't make much of a difference, does it? You're still you. Only the why of it I don't understand."

"That's a longer story, and one I would rather tell your father and you together."

"So you won't have to repeat yourself, I get it."

A dry chuckle. "Indeed."

"But how is your wound?"

"Better, thank you. You have been taking real good care of me."

"Well, we owed it to you after the way you got Pa well again."

"Nah, Mark, you did not owe me anything after what I did."

Again, a pause. Lucas held his breath.

"You know, Pa was really upset, because the way he – I guess we, and everybody in town too, we treated you like a boy, not like a lady. You know how Pa is."

"Mark, the way I chose to live, I was asking to be treated as a man."

"I thought so, too. How should he have known? But now, do we treat you like a lady?"

"Ah, boy-"

The laughter swinging in the deep voice carried so many fond memories that Lucas wiped his hand over his face.

"- I hardly know how if I am a lady. You were always courteous to me, so could we just go on as before?"

"I guess… I mean I could. You look different, sure, but you're still you."

Lucas could visualise Mark's innocent shrug.

"I've been thinking a lot, you know? You never behaved like the other farmhands, nor like Cade. You never swore, nor acted funny with the girls. You were always polite and honest… except that one thing. You kept your hair covered, but I thought that was because of your religion. Mostly you were a normal, nice person. More like a friend, not like most adults. You made Pa laugh."

"You must have been angry, too. Friends don't keep secrets."

"Mostly curious. I don't understand what made Pa so mad, except he does not like lying. But it was just the one lie. It must be an adult thing. And it had been weighing on you, I could see it in your face when you woke that first time. I guess I was angry for a short time, but not any more."

"Well, thank you. I'm glad we're still friends."

Emery's voice was studiedly even.

"How come you don't smell?"

"What?"

"Sorry, that came out wrong. I mean, you never washed… here…"

Lucas could imagine the boy's face turning beet red.

"I bet if you think about it, you'll figure this one out. How often did I have breakfast with you?"

"Hardly ever, you most always checked the lifestock in the… ah. So where did you go?"

"There is a place if you follow the small tributary up into the crevice. It is a magical place, with a waterfall… like a rich man's shower."

Lucas, hidden behind the curtain and the wall, felt heat run through his body. The image presenting itself to him, the memories of her slender body snuggled against his, shivering under his arm…

"Will you be leaving now?" Mark's voice carried an undercurrent that spoke of the heavy heart.

"Yes, Mark, I will be leaving soon. You understand that, don't you."

"Aye. Though it's too bad about my homework. You're really good at explaining things."

Lucas had to smile – the way his boy's mind worked...

"Pa said you would have left earlier. That you stayed because of… his accident."

"Mark… yes, it's true. I could not leave you both alone to fend with the stock and the farm with your Pa so badly."

"But did you not like it here?"

"Oh, Mark. I liked it immensely here. Your homework, the farmwork, the animals… I would not have stayed otherwise."

"Too bad about the wheel…"

The rifleman frowned in his hiding place. What wheel?

"The wheel is finished, Mark. And I have the sketches for the final contraption finished. Your father…"

"See, that would have betrayed you. I've been thinking about the difference in behaviour lately. Women touch my face, and men rather put a hand on my shoulder, or push my hat down over my ears."

Emery's laughter rang out over the quiet yard, a sound so silvery and melodic…

...

Lucas stepped out of the door then. "Except your Pa, who will put you over his knee if you forgot the groceries from Miss Hatties'."

"Pa, no, I did not forget anything, and she told me to tell you that she'll put aside a packet of chocolate when it comes next week. And you might have to help me with the bag of nails, it was so heavy that even Freddy and I together could not put it on the wagon. And Miss Schuler gave me extra homework because Carl got me in trouble."

"Mark." Lucas could not help the grin. The boy had crept into the corral to kneel at Spirit's head, his shoulder almost touching Emery's. "Wash your hands, say hello to Mr. Buckhart, and then set the table. I'll deal with your shopping."

"I can-" said Emery at the same moment as Mark's: "Emery can help you, Pa."

"No." It came out shorter than intended. "She's still too weak, Mark. Don't even think about it." The last was directed at the young woman, who had made a move.

"Hello Mr. Buckhart! It's good to see you again!"

"Hello Mark. That is a kind greeting."

Lucas was about to ask the young woman after the 'wheel' she and Mark had been talking about, but the boy interrupted.

Something must have connected for Mark, for he hesitated, eyes going back to the young woman over the yard. He said to Sam Buckhart: "You came for her? To take her away? Has she broken the law?"

"Mr. Buckhart offers me a chance, Mark." Emery had gotten up labouredly and interrupted what threatened to become a heated conversation.

"Are you in trouble?" Mark retraced his steps and offered her his arm in a motion that made Lucas bite down on a grin – it was like looking into a tiny mirror. Bless the boy, he could act as if nothing was different.

"No more than before. But I might go home."

"To the wild mountains and the grizzly bears?"

"Aye. Come, I'll help you set the table."

"Do you think you could help me with my trigonometry homework?"

"Depends on why you got in trouble."

Lucas watched the two cross the yard and into the house, and exchanged a glance with Buckhart.

What had been in the letter?

…

The tension was still there when they sat down at the table. But all four tried for a livelier tone and varying subjects. When Lucas got up to fix some coffee, Sam Buckhart touched the subject that seemed to be hanging low above the table.

"Maybe this would be easier if you would tell us the … relevant … parts of your life's story, Miss Donelly."

"The name's Emery, please."

Motioning with a broad hand, the native lawyer conceded. The young woman waited until Lucas had put down two glasses of Whiskey and four cups of coffee, then she tilted her head.

"After the fire, my father's adoptive tribe took me in. No-" she interrupted herself, "I have to take one step further back.

My mother was of mixed heritage already, irish and dutch, mixed religious background. My father left his original tribe before the war, he wanted to use the opportunities white man brought to his country, find the middle path and not participate in even more bloodshed. Kekoah-Neh, the wise man of the sturgeon tribe, was known for his diplomatic skills. They got along like real blood. So you might imagine how… diverse… our upbringing was, even living in the wilderness." She let her head fall back against the fauteuil's backrest. "Then Benton happened. You know what he left behind. I was a traumatized ten-year-old. The sturgeon tribe scooped me up, tried to do their best with me – it's not the most uncommon thing to loose your parents at such an age. But what broke me then was that white man – who was half of my cultural background – did nothing to set right what had happened there. Sure, it's wild country up in the Northwestern Territories, but as the name says, white man claims the land for himself, so should take care of it's people there."

Lucas had been watching Emery and his son with equal intensity from the corner of his eyes. Now Mark blurted out what had had his eyes widen succinctly.

"You speak as if you are native. As if you hate white man."

Emery turned fully to him, smile singularly sweet. "Mark, back then, my brother and I never thought of ourselves as white or red. We were neither true sturgeon tribe, nor were we the prim, frilly, so hapless white children we saw on our trips to the bigger settlements. We played with either, had friends on both sides, so to speak. Only when I turned to the white population for help, the way my father had done, I was turned down – not only for being half native but more for being a girl. There are not many options for a girl without family, without money."

Mark nodded, a little placated.

"When I became a woman in the eyes of the tribe, I fled to the city. A friend of the family, so I thought, would know to help me through a… transition and maybe, maybe show me a path I could take. I…" it was the first time the young woman hesitated.

"He was the priest you told us about? Why you don't believe in church any more?"

Sam Buckhart's eyes narrowed at the boy's words, but he did not interrupt. Lucas felt his hands twitch at the expression in Emery's eyes.

"That's how I came to Montreal. And the moment I became a boy to all eyes. As a girl, no money, no family, I saw no future I was willing to follow." For a moment she rested her face in her hand, but less to find strength or hide an inner turmoil, more to gather her thoughts, it seemed to the rifleman.

"I will skip over the next years, suffice it to say that I was… taken in by somebody, who looked to the… diverse education of several waifs like me."

"What's a waif?" Mark had hung onto every word.

"A dirty, homeless ghost of a child, like Huck Finn."

"Ah."

 _Or like her._ Lucas felt the corners of his mouth twitch at her words. But his heart clenched – the warmth and compassion that swung in her voice spoke of so much hard-earned life-experience. For a moment he was taken back to the years of the war, to the empty, soul-less eyes of the younger soldiers, those the war had cost their life or liveliness, those that never recovered. Emery had fought her own war, and had recovered. His glance fell to the slender, long-fingered hand so versatile on the guitar, gentle with the animals, strong while working on the farm. Those hands that had supported him through his convalescence... now they where white knuckled, cramped around the hand rests, sinews standing out harshly. Right, she was talking.

"…fled from the city and returned to my father's tribe. I refused to be put into the category "female" after that. I refused to be helpless. My parents in front of my eyes… they had not held to the traditional way white women are treated, I was not going to fall into that trap. So I watched the young men fighting, and honed my skills myself, until the old teacher surprised me and made me give up my secret."

 _What secret?_ Lucas had missed something crucial here. "That man in montreal taught you the way you fight?" he questioned.

"Aye. Called it martial arts. From Asia." She shrugged, momentarily disconcerted by his glance. "The wise man of the tribe took me on. The natives are much more open with women who don't fit into a woman's body, or men who would rather have a woman's. While I am comfortable with my sex, I would not follow the predesigned paths, any of them. My grandfather was still a member of the elders – he still insisted in cultivating relations with the whites. When it became clear that I could not stay with the tribe-"

"Why not?" Mark would not let her skip over the details so easily.

"I… there were two young men who wanted me as their wife. Fights broke out, dissonance within the tribe… I was _Onari_ \- a wildling, even to them.

You must understand: I had the choice to stay with the tribe, who were family, but not my life. As a woman in white man's civilisation, I saw few paths open. As a man, there was freedom.

Anyway, Kekoa-Neh gave me my brother's papers and his blessing and sent me to the friend of his who got me inscribed at university. I had helped design a water pipe including heating system for the tribe's winter settling, so there was no question of my admittance – as a man."

"Your previous education allowed that?" Sam Buckhart's eyes burned.

"Yes."

The tone of her voice raised all the protective instincts. Lucas reached out and touched the cold, cramped hand. The long, slender fingers disengaged. A harried glance changing to wary gratefulness, and she shyly surrendered her hand to his grasp.

"Since I do not look native, and had learned to hide my sex well, I took it as a game in the beginning. See how far I'd get. Then I got caught by the subject of my lectures and began to study in earnest."

"What about the law?"

Heat and anger filled the green eyes suddenly. "The law never fazed me. The law had failed me, me brother, me family, so I owed white man's law nothing, especially nothing concerning my sex. What I saw in Montreal of the law… forgive me, Mr. Buckhart, it was written by men and for men. Where it concerns women, we are not much better than cattle. I know there are changes afoot, and have happened, but slowly, so slowly…"

"And yet now…"

Here a mirthless smile crossed her face, her hand relaxed in Lucas' grip. Self-derision rang from her chuckle. "Yes, now. Now I find myself relying on white man's law." Her fingers reached for the corner of the letter just visible in her shirt.

"So you'll do it? Stand witness?" The rifleman did not hide his mixed feelings.

"Stand witness? Pa?"

"In a moment, Mark. Sam, could the law come after her for the engineering title?"

Buckhart was unmoved. "If somebody knew about it, maybe. But to stand witness, you will have to be Emery Donelly. Who is not listed in any university raster."

Lucas considered first his friend, then his farmhand for a long moment, thoughts churning.

Emery bore his gaze tiredly, and finally pulled her fingers out of his grasp.

Lucas startled at the loss he felt, flexing his digits mechanically.

"Lucas… in town, you lied for me."

"Nobody knows, except the Doc, and he'll keep a secret. I'm of a mind to tell Micah, if you agree, because we might need his help in all this." _And because he would like to ask his old friend's opinion on his farmhand._ "Otherwise, I think Eirik Donelly is leaving North Fork, called home to the northern border suddenly."

"By a letter delivered by Sam Buckhart." Mark jumped onto the wagon with glee. "And Emery Donelly is free to travel to Albuquerque. But what about Spirit?"

The young woman was clearly a bit overwhelmed by their plans. "I'm not leaving Spirit."

"We would have to travel by horse or carriage anyway, there is no direct train."

"I'm taking him. I can't take a carriage."

Mark shook his head impatiently. "Why?"

"I get sick from the motion."

Lucas sneered, amused. "You're an acrobat on that horse, yet you get queasy riding a carriage?"

Ah, her chuckle was so tired that the tall man sobered.  
"Em'ry, you need to rest. You're almost see-through."

Sam Buckhart stood slowly, catching Lucas' eyes. "I need to ride into town. May I call here in the morning again?"

"You'll be welcome, old friend. There's always a place for you, if you need a bed. Though it would have to be the barn, these days, the house is full." Lucas could not help the grin spreading over his face. It must be his boy's excitement spreading to him.


	24. Chapter 24 Father and Son

"Pa?"

"Yes, son?"

"Why did Em'ry have to leave Montreal? This man who took her and her friends in, why would he suddenly let them go?"

"I can't imagine, Mark. Maybe he lost his income, or he got into trouble himself. The years after the war… I don't know much about what was happening in the northern Territories."

He'd missed that part of her story.

"Pa, she's real smart, isn't she?"

"Yes." He bent over his book again.

"Pa, she went to our waterfall to get clean."

"I heard, Mark."

"She looked so sad."

"Son, back to your homework."

….

"Pa?"

"Mark?"

"You explained the witness thing to me. But after she's done in Albuquerque, will she go north with Sam Buckhart and his lawyer friend and try to get her land back?"

"I should think so. Though I don't know if Sam will go to the northern territories. It's mighty far."

"But imagine the things they'll see!"

Lucas could see the wonders in his boy's eyes.

"And they always finished their homework when they were kids."

The sandy head bent over his wax tablet.

…

"But Pa!"

"What now, son?"

"The guitar! Who will teach me?"

"Mark, the way I see it, you're quite good already. You might go on by yourself. We can look around for books and …" what was the word? "… sheet music."

"But that's so expensive… She always wrote the scores down for me."

"You might start earning some money, playing, like in church."

"Yeah." - - - "I bet that's why she never sang with me. She claimed she had no ear for singing... but I never believed that. Her voice would have given her away…"

 _Her voice, her hands, her hair…_

…..

"Mark?"

"Yes, Pa?"

"What was this wheel you were talking about with Emery?"

His son gazed out the window for a moment, something adult crossing over his features. "It was our secret… before. A waterwheel, big enough so that it could move a grindstone."

"A gristmill?" True astonishment left Lucas' mouth hang open for a heartbeat.

"Yes, a small one. So we could save money and time."

"Where?"

"Up in the direction where we found Tony and the upturned wagon. Not so far though, one wouldn't want to have to ride for more than a few minutes. Where there's the step in the river. We still have to build a shed around it."

"You had it all figured out?"

"Well, on paper and in our heads…"

…..

"Pa?" tentative this time.

"Son?"

"It's here eyes, isn't it? They're what make her him, true to herself."

"Did this sentence make sense to yourself, Mark?" _Though to be honest, Mark's perception was shrewd._

 _"_ She'd have to always guard her moves, her words… though not here. _"_

"Now what do you mean, Mark?"

"Eirik never held back with you, Pa. Not for a long while. Not since you were injured."

McCain just looked at his brooding son, the image of his dead wife.

"How come Em'ry is a woman suddenly, I mean her figure? She can't have hidden…"

Lucas grimaced, but had to give in. Better to plunge right through. "She bound her chest flat with bandages."

"Ah."

 _Her breasts… white in the firelight, topped with darker circles…_

"Wouldn't that hurt?" Mark had tilted his head, expression nonplussed.

The rifleman slammed his book shut with sudden vigour.

 _"_ You finish your work. I'll prepare the bed in the barn for if Sam Buckhart doesn't stay in town. _"_

…


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 23 - Honesty

"So is this going to become a regular thing?"

Lucas set his chair beside the rocking chair, and took a sip from his glass.

…..

Lucas had sent Mark to bed as usual, after he had thrown a silent glance into his own room – but Emery was still asleep. But finished with his books, he had found himself too uneasy to settle, and taken the whiskey and a cigar out onto the veranda. An indrawn breath had startled him from his brooding – Emery stood in the door, this time fully clothed. Her hair was pulled to one side and braided, and a blanket slung over her shoulders. The bowl of stew they had left out for her was in her hands.

They had stared at each other in the near darkness for a too-long moment.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," he had said, his throat dry. Automatically he got out of the rocking chair. "Sit." No way he'd let her settle on the floor again. The whiskey warm in his blood and misty in his head he ignored her efforts of protest. Had he always been this tall? She seemed so small and vulnerable in his chair. "I'll get the other chair."

…..

He glanced over. "Well?"

Emery hunched her shoulders a little higher. "Not for much longer, anyway."

Ah, that was unexpected. Lucas took a large swallow and almost choked. He let her spoon the stew in silence, until finally he formed slow, deliberate words:

"Is this as hard for you as it is for me?"

Her voice was very small and a little hoarse as she questioned in return: "What do you mean?"

"This… you, me, Eirik…. It's like there's three of us." The rifleman kept his tone dry, spoke mostly into the cool night air. When she did not answer for the longest time, he turned. Finding her glance fastened on his glass, he offered it to her somewhat bemusedly.

The light from the lamp hanging beside the door shone just enough to make her features visible. Emery reached for the glass with an unreadable expression.

When their fingers touched, both startled. Their eyes met.

Lucas refused to drown in the blood rushing in his ears and, grasping her empty bowl, stood up. He returned and sat down without a word, but much of his earlier calm.

A considerable amount of time passed, measured by the full centimetre of his cigar, and the refilling of the amber liquid. Emery pulled her knees up with slow movements and answered: "I can only guess how angry you must be. For me, the weirdest part is that I should feel relieved, and free, and I do, but… The awareness that I am female, to everybody, comes in spurts and waves. It's like Eirik was who I am, without all the memories and emotions and experiences that Emery has." She chuckled morosely. "I'm not schizophrenic, I promise."

"You're drinking whiskey. You're definitely not the farmhand I took on." He said it dryly. Lucas was fighting with himself again – she managed to defuse his previous anger, and make him want to alleviate the tension in her – in them both. It worked, the smile he could barely make out touched her eyes. He had not been making it easy for her, either, alternating between fury and normal conversation and protectiveness.

"This warms, without the burn. Why is it in all the books people drink Brandy? Swenson has it in his office, even Miss Hattie has her bottle behind the counter. But you drink whiskey…"

Lucas shrugged. "Brandy tastes cheap to me. Army memories…"

The glint in her eyes should have warned him. "Whiskey is more sophisticated? goes better with the refined rifleman?"

Ah, there she went again. He almost spat with the mixture of amusement and indignation. There was this beautiful young woman sitting on his porch, whom he knew only very little; and every time he had found a measure of equilibrium, she sputtered something that made him see Eirik, remember the warmth and closeness he had felt for the young man.

"This is exactly what I meant. We were good friends. But this… awareness…"

He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to dampen the anger he felt rising again.

The young woman moved until she sat crosslegged in the chair, facing him. "You feel I took advantage of you."

Damn, she put her finger right into the midst of it. Lucas had not quite formed the thought for himself. He had to say something. "Well, you put me at a disadvantage. How often did you laugh at me?"

"Laugh at you?" her voice rose with disbelieve and amusement. "Only when you were drunk."

Momentarily distracted, Lucas frowned. "So many things should have alerted me to your secret…"

"Lucas, I had a decade and more to perfect him."

"Did you never meet anybody who made you doubt your decision?"

She leaned back again into a more comfortable position. "Ah, I've asked myself this a few times over the last days."

Her hesitation made him guess at her thoughts. "Did you ever let yourself meet anybody who made you doubt?"

Now she was disconcerted at the precision with which he read her mind. "That's probably the truth of it. I was people-weary."

"Your days in the big cities… You thought the costume gave you freedom."

"When I faced that I had most certainly lost Benton's trail, I put Spirit with a kind man outside of town and went in… as a woman. I was considering joining the suffragette movement for good. But things happened that made me flee the city. Again. Freedom is just another word for nothing to loose…"

"Stop, youngster, that's despair talking." Lucas spoke swiftly. "Those are not your words. Am I right?"

She stared at him in abject misery. "Somebody said them to me once."

"What was in that letter?"

He had been right. There was a connection between her downcast mood and the page of writing. She glanced out over the moonlight landscape and answered: "My parents had taken quite some pride in the little valley we called home. They had not only traded it from the local tribe, but also made sure their claim was settled with the government. It was a peaceful place, gentle and wild and safe and dangerous… oh, if I could paint with words…" the longing in her voice made the rifleman ache for her. "After Benton's men burned it down, after my brother, my father were gone and buried, I went to the local judge, to ask for the written deed, to give to the tribe, so they could use the land, help me rebuild." She was unaware of the single silver tear running down her face. "The man… he said, after condemning me for being a girl, and a halfnative, there was no writ, that my father had been a fraud, that Benton's story…" she swallowed hard. "He broke my believe in white man's law. This letter now… this letter is the territorial court of the northwestern territories looking for the progeny of Siobhan O'Donnel and Aks'Yamoria of the Sturgeon Lake tribe. For the owner of said writ. For me. To put things right. Even Benton's name shows up… looking back now, I think they might have been working together somehow, Benton and Galvesen."

"But when Benton fled from the north, this Galvesen was not found out?"

"It does sound like he was found out only years later."

"What would he want with your land? Especially up there land can't be expensive."

"Ah. There was a rumour of a gold deposit."

Lucas let out his breath with a hiss. The story made sense now.

"There were no friends of the family to corroborate your claim?"

"None that would put up a fight large enough to rattle the court. It is a lonely country, settlements are sparse and spread far apart. I guess similar to hereabouts a few ten-years back."

"I understand. And yet…" It made him bitter to imagine a younger, heart-shaped face confronted with this harsh a reality. "That no one spoke up…"

"Lucas, you remember how your friends from your town reacted to the sick and injured mixed-blood family." Her voice was a deep, rough rumble full of dispirited anger. "Not only that, my mother had left her amish family for my father. We followed no obvious religion. The piano in the living room – a rich man's instrument. The local priest – a catholic – would have made our priest here in North Fork look like a moderate protestant. And my father was university trained, well spoken, my mother a classic stubborn irish girl… I thought… I thought I had no choice. It was just one man… Galvesen's successor is cleaning out his drawer, and trying to set things right. Everything could have been so different…"

Lucas reached out a broad paw, engulfing her wrist in his fingers. "Emery." He watched her fight against the desperation that threatened to overwhelm her, watched her bite down on her lower lip to stop its trembling. She pulled her hand back only to reach for his whiskey glass. He held on to it for a moment, holding her eyes too.

"None of what you just told me gives anybody an excuse. None of what happened to you as a child was in any way your fault."

A shiver ran over her, down to the tips of her fingers. Before her eyes spilled over – or the glass spilled over, he let go, but raised an eyebrow.

"You do realise you will regret this tomorrow?"

He more felt than heard her sarcastic sigh before she recklessly took a large gulp of the amber liquid. But she found some kind of equilibrium again. A long while later she said quietly into the empty air: "You do know that I will regret a lot of things for a lot longer than tomorrow."

Lucas emptied the glass, thoughts still with her story. A ten year old girl. And to be followed by an insidious priest with fat fingers and a foible for helpless girls. Of course the letter would reawaken all the horrors of her childhood.

"That makes two of us."

She stilled completely. But before the tall man could fully realise how she had taken his words, the young woman had squared her shoulders.

"Anything else you want an answer for?"

That made the rifleman grin in the darkness. She sounded incredibly sweet, slurring her usually so crisply accentless pronunciation. "The waterwheel. How long has this been going on?"

She grimaced. "Maybe two weeks before the 'marriage debacle'. We used the dry weather, and worked on it every free minute. You remember Mark and I rode out often after homework and chores were done…"

"I remember." He was intoxicated himself, his thoughts working slower than usually. "When did you decide to tell me that your name is Emery, not Eirik."

Curled in his chair, her knees under her chin, the blanked wrapped around her she resembled more a miserable little owl than a human being. The owl spoke: "You know me well, Lucas McCain. I started working on it with the vague plan that I had to act. Your leg was fully healed. So I resolved that after it was finished, I would confront… you, myself…" she shrugged, the blanket gliding off her shoulders.

She had been tired those evenings. A thought came to the rifleman, one he would at another time have rejected. "Wait. I wasn't that drunk. One evening, you said… you said you had shared a woman's bed before." His tone made it an accusation.

The girl chuckled humourlessly. "Winters in the north are cold. Very cold. So of course we shared furs."

A sudden whiff of the gentle evening breeze brought the smell of her hair to him, and with it a cloud of memories. _As he had done with her._ Suddenly Lucas could not breathe for the reaction of his body. He was not a boy of sixteen any more, he had buried a wife. He had thought these feelings, the surprise of them, the intensity of them, buried with her.

He swallowed once, twice, the blood roaring in his ears. The silence seemed to fill the yard until one could have cut the air with a scythe.

"Lucas?" Her tone was matter of fact, but the waver in her voice gave lie to it.

To distract himself from his inner turmoil he interrupted her: "Do you need anything for your journey?"

She stiffened, still staring straight ahead. It took Emery a long time to summon a short answer. "No. Thank you." She squared her shoulders. "I can sleep in the barn. I've been imposing on you for long enough."

"Sam Buckhart's coming back. And you're not imposing." _Just distracting, and confusing._

"I fear the whiskey is getting to my head. I will retire." Her words were formal and calm, but the hand she reached out to the railing was shaking.

 _Where had the conversation taken this turn? Would she have asked his forgiveness? Would he have given it?_

"Emr'y…" Lucas stood with a frown. He reached out an arm, barring her way. His intentions were a muddle, but when his hand touched her waist, she froze. He could see the wetness on her cheeks. The young woman recoiled almost violently from his touch, and stumbling, bumped hard into the railing. With a surprised sound of pain she doubled over, pressing both hands to her side.

Lucas caught her up in his arms without hesitation.

Strange, how the lithe, warm body against his could make so much sense. He murmured against her hair, while she laboured to catch her breath.

"Shh, breathe, little one, breathe."

He'd known a fellow with a broken rib in the war. The guy had fainted twice from the pain of it. And Swenson, the smith, had taken a horse's hoof to the chest more than once - he'd been blue and black, and even a gentle pat to his back had had him groaning in pain.

He realised he was telling her all this aloud. "A broken rib needs time."

She slowly relaxed and straightened, his arms reluctantly loosening around her. She lifted her head slowly.

His back was to the light the lamp threw out of the window, but the moon's silvery rays reached her face. He could watch her wet her lips before she said:

"Thank you. I'm all right now." Something swung in her voice that rose goose-bumps on his arms.

"You're shivering." His hands still rested on her waist. She was so close, so warm...

She gently – reluctantly? – pulled out of his grasp. "I'm cold, and tired." She rallied against the wavering of her voice and even managed a shaky smile. "The night air seems not to become me. As well -"

She frowned, cocking her head slightly. Lucas too heard the muffled hoof-beats. They listened for a moment, still lightly clasping wrists.

Emery pulled away. "That's Sam Buckhart returning. Good night, Lucas McCain."

Lucas frowned at her retreating figure. When the door closed behind her, a fleeting thought passed through his mind: _Could it be he liked the female version even better than the male one?_


End file.
